


The Emperor's Gratitude

by GwendolynGrace



Category: Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: New Republic Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Thrawn gets closer to becoming an admiral, there are those who prefer to see him fail. Can he save himself, his lover, and his career?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Timothy Zahn’s SW books (Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, Spectre of the Past, and Vision of the Future). Originally written about 1999.  
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by George Lucas and Timothy Zahn, various publishers including but not limited to DelRey Books, 20th Century Fox, Inc., and West Coast Games.
> 
> There is some graphic material ahead, including violence, rape, sexual molestation, and torture. Please exercise caution: caveat emptor.

Ristlin Namara took the public transport to work, as usual, cradling his wrist against his torso. The bandage he wrapped around it that morning helped immobilize it, but he still planned to use perigen once he got to the medical building. There were times when working in health care was a distinct advantage. 

He hoped he didn’t see too many people before he reached his office. The bandage was clearly visible under his sleeve and he hated to answer questions about himself. As he disembarked from the transport and headed for the entrance, he tossed his long hair in an effort to shake off the last few hours.

He couldn’t. Alone with his research, wrist throbbing, aching all over, his mind wandered, replaying the previous night ceaselessly, ending and scrolling back to the beginning again….

 

He had been asleep when Thrawn came in from his reception. They had long since agreed that Ristlin would avoid state occasions and military affairs as much as possible. If Palpatine knew, as Ristlin was sure he did, of his prodigy’s personal choices, he didn’t let that stand in the way of Thrawn’s career. So far. But it paid to be cautious and discreet. The Emperor’s court was not so enlightened that to be openly connected to each other wouldn’t eventually have repercussions. So he had stayed in, working in his small studio at home, until he grew too tired to wait up. He felt more than heard Thrawn enter the room, and cracking his eyelids he perceived the reddish glow of Thrawn moving in the dark. The Alderaanian nuzzled into his pillow and sank back into sleep.

But only for a short while, before Thrawn whispered his name and stroked his arm.

“Mff,” he grunted.

“I can’t sleep,” the blue-skinned alien told him.

“You haven’t even tried yet,” Ristlin answered, muffled by the pillow.

“I’ve been trying for an hour,” Thrawn said, his hand drifting down to Ristlin’s leg, reaching inside his loose fitting shorts.

“Gah,” said Ristlin, looking at the chronometer. “It’s after two. Some of us have to work in the morning.”

Thrawn kissed his shoulder, then the nape of his neck. “Call in.”

“No,” Ristlin shrugged out of Thrawn’s grasp and repeated more forcefully, “No.” 

Thrawn subsided. “All right. But at least let me tell you my news.”

“Yes?”

“Sulon.” He spoke the single word as if it were an explanation of its own.

“What? I’m not awake, so do please spare me getting out the translator.”

“Sulon was a success, Palpatine’s pleased. It’s one step closer to an Admiralty.” He sat up in bed, unable to contain his pride.

“Oh.”

“Oh? I’m the only non-human in the top ranks. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to return to my former rank? And you say, ‘Oh’?”

“Sorry. I’m tired. I’m sure I’ll be excited for you in the morning.”

“No, you won’t,” the admiral-to-be observed in a cool, matter-of-fact tone that barely concealed his anger. He swung his legs out of the bed and left the bedroom without another word.

“Oh, Gods,” Ristlin muttered, wishing he had feigned happiness. But his vision of their future together grew more limited with every medal Palpatine pinned to his lover’s uniform, every star on Thrawn’s epaulets. 

Cursing, Ristlin rose and went into the salon, not daring to look at the chronometer. He didn’t want to know. Thrawn sat on the sofa, gazing up at the artwork on the walls. Most they had acquired independently of one another, though two or three had been bought together. Some of Ristlin’s own work decorated other rooms, but the centerpiece of their collection was the large hanging by Krssk Limbaleth, the great weaver whose tapestries survived over 2,000 years to tell the stories of his ancient people. It took up most of one wall and had cost a fortune, but was well worth it to both men. 

Ristlin sat down on the sofa next to Thrawn. “Look, we’ve had this discussion before, haven’t we? I know how you feel about it, and you know how I feel.”

“Without the Empire, I’d still be rotting on that planet in the Outer Rim. Palpatine’s responsible for every assignment I’ve been given to lead.”

“Yes, and you deserve all your laurels, love. You’re extremely good at what you do. I just worry that you’re part of some other agenda, that, for all you’ve accomplished, you’re still a pawn.”

“Of course, I am, Rist. I know. He’s the Emperor, he has vast amounts of territory to control.”

“And what’s to be your territory?”

“I don’t know yet.” But his tone said he did.

Ristlin smiled ruefully. “He’ll put you somewhere where you’ll be obscured. Where you won’t be noticed. The Unknown Regions again, probably.”

“I’m the best choice for out there.”

“Yeah. So, it’s good. But to me, it means you’ll be away more often for longer missions. I just can’t get too excited about you leaving.”

Thrawn looked away from the tapestry and fixed his gaze on his companion. “Leaving? No, you’ll be coming with me.”

Ristlin laughed. “With you? How? I’m not in the Navy, it would be a little obvious, don’t you think?”

Thrawn shrugged. “Re-enlist. Go back to active duty. I’ll make sure your assignment is down in the medical decks, you won’t see any combat. Rist, it’s the best thing, really.”

“Can we please talk about this tomorrow—I mean, today, later? Come back to bed.”

Thrawn smiled. “Yes, all right.”

“Thank you,” Ristlin said with relief, and led the way back in.

They settled back down quickly, chatting about nothing. As they bade each other good night, Ristlin rubbed one foot affectionately against Thrawn’s. “You always have to win, don’t you?”

 

He shouldn’t have said anything, Ristlin thought as he pulled out the microbe trays left-handed and studied their development. If he just hadn’t said anything more, made that crack, it would have ended there. But he let the tease tumble out, without thinking about Thrawn’s mood, and he felt Thrawn’s body stiffen behind him….

 

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, never—”

“Nothing means nothing, Rist.”

“I just meant you’re stubborn and hard to argue with. Let it go.”

Thrawn said nothing for a bit, and Ristlin thought it would be over. Then, just as he was relaxing in the Captain’s arms, Thrawn observed, “You don’t think it’ll work much longer, do you? Between us?”

It was too close to the truth. But Ristlin didn’t want to give up just yet. “I didn’t say that. I just think it’s getting harder. But anything is possible, if you want hard enough and if you work hard enough. You’re living proof, aren’t you?”

Thrawn grunted in approval. “Rist?”

“Yes?” 

Thrawn leaned close in and whispered in the Alderaanian’s ear, breath hot enough to send chills down his side, “I want you.”

He brushed aside Ristlin’s long hair and once again kissed the nape of his neck. “I want you,” he repeated, drawing out the words seductively, flooding Ristlin with his desire.

“Don’t,” Ristlin pleaded weakly, already moving under Thrawn’s long hands. He tried to squirm away, but Thrawn turned every effort into an opportunity for a caress, every struggle into a sensual advance. “Th-Thrawn, stop--”

“No,” the alien answered definitively. He caught Ristlin’s right wrist in his hand, and twisted it, forcing Ristlin to turn with the twist until he lay half on his stomach. His other hand pulled down the shorts which his partner habitually wore to sleep. Ristlin’s whimpers quickly turned into pants as Thrawn rubbed against him, awakening his own impulses. “No” became “Yes” even though Thrawn’s grip on his wrist chaffed and burned. They made love with violent force, moving in time, Ristlin moaning with ecstatic pain. Thrawn loosed his grip on his lover’s wrist and slipped his hands down to Ristlin’s groin. He withdrew himself and turned Ristlin back toward him, pressing against him and then ducking down to close his mouth over Ristlin’s already pulsing genitals. With a sigh, Ristlin slowed his gyration and leaned back into his pillow, enjoying the moment. 

But before he knew what happened, a hand closed on his throat. His lover entered him again, lifting his hips with the force of the penetration. Ristlin tried to scream, but Thrawn’s hand on his windpipe reduced the sound to a gurgle. 

“I do always win,” Thrawn told him cruelly. “And we will be together, if you do as I say, and if you trust me.” He trailed his other hand over Ristlin’s cheek, under his chin, lifting his face to bestow a rough kiss.

Reeling from the sudden attack, Ristlin could only nod stupidly. He looked into the red glow of Thrawn’s eyes and could detect no trace of madness or sanity, love or hate. Deciding that Thrawn must have been drunk, or deranged, Ristlin submitted meekly, grateful when the alien removed his strong grip from his throat.

When he finally concluded his amorous attentions, Thrawn said to him, “You’re right, Rist. You can get what you want, if you want it hard enough.” With that, he had rolled onto his side and dropped promptly off to sleep.

 

Two things woke Ristlin the next morning: his chronometer, and the throb of his wrist. He gingerly looked over at Thrawn, still asleep, hoping that he had dreamed his lover’s obscene behavior. But when he turned his head, he felt the bruises on his neck.

With his left hand, he let the chronometer recycle for ten minutes’ more sleep. He closed his eyes and assessed whether he needed to get medical care when he went to work. Slowly he moved his wrist up, down, in a circle. Bruised, certainly, maybe sprained, but nothing time wouldn’t heal. He swallowed. Swallowing hurt. Everything from his waist down was sore. But once he was alone in his lab, he could fix the pain. 

The chronometer sounded again, this time with the news broadcast. Thrawn turned over and reached for Ristlin, catching his arm. Reflexively, Ristlin yelped, waking Thrawn.

“What’s wrong?” Thrawn asked, full of concern. He reached out again, and this time Ristlin pulled away.

“Don’t! Just don’t,” Ristlin said. He rose to gain distance but moved too quickly and braced himself with the bad hand, yelping again.

“Rist?” Thrawn sat up, seemingly genuinely worried. “Are you all right?”

“No,” Ristlin answered incredulously. He retreated to the bathroom, grabbing fresh clothes on the way, ignoring Thrawn’s questions.

When he emerged, Thrawn waited for him, dressed, but sitting on the bed. “Ristlin. I can’t remember what happened last night.”

Ristlin fixed a stony gaze on his lover. “You have an eidetic memory, Thrawn. You remember what happened.”

“I don’t.” He frowned the way he did when anyone questioned his word.

Ristlin sighed. He wanted to get away, now. “Well, I have to go to work. Everyone faces a crisis sometime, Thrawn, and I don’t have time for yours.” He left then, although he was almost an hour early.

 

The timer on the specimen trays pulled him out of reverie. He took the trays out and examined the specimens again. Mechanically, he recorded the readings, then put them in the refrigeration unit for the next phase, pulling out his lunch at the same time. In light of his trouble swallowing and his hasty leave-taking from home, he had bought a serving of yogurt and some fruit, supplementing it with a soothing thick shake. He hadn’t half finished when someone knocked on his door. The lab had an airtight steel door, but in a fit of nostalgia, the Institute had retained the old-fashioned hinged doors, too. Ristlin preferred them, actually. The knock repeated, and Kathe, their Boromran technician, stuck her head in and smiled. “Hey.”

Ristlin grunted as he swallowed his spoonful of yogurt. “Hey.”

Kathe stepped inside. Her satyr’s hooves clicked on the tile floor. “Your Captain’s here to see you.”

“My captain? Are you sure?”

“Um, tallish, Imperial uniform with a captain’s insignia, kinda handsome in a chiseled sort of way, black hair, blue skin, red, glowing eyes, Yep, pretty sure.” Kathe loved an opportunity to joke.

“Aya. Stupid question.”

“So, can I let him come up?” she asked tentatively.

Ristlin didn’t want to se him just yet. But if Thrawn had made time to come to the medical center, he could hear him out. “Let him come up.”

“Are you all right?” Kathe asked, pacing forward slowly. She stopped when she glimpsed his bandaged hand. “Did you two have a fight?” Her eyes narrowed, as if she contemplated marching down to reception and putting her hind quarters to use on Thrawn. The satyrs of Boromr had a protective herd instinct.

“It’s all right,” Ristlin managed to smile. “Let him in.”

 

A few minutes later, Thrawn entered the small lab and shut the door behind him. Ristlin didn’t say anything, waiting for Thrawn to begin, which he did without much preamble.

“I’ve been trying to think all morning. I remember coming home. I think we quarreled. I went to look at the tapestry, you came out, we talked, went back to bed. But after that....” He spread his hands. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what that was.”

“Is that what you came to say?”

Thrawn crossed the room toward Ristlin, who stepped back nervously, putting a lab table between them. It also put him directly under a bank of lights. In the harsh fluorescent lights, the bruises on his neck were clearly visible. “Did—did I do that?” Thrawn asked, horrified. Ristlin’s lip trembled, and he looked away quickly, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “Blazing suns!” Thrawn continued, half to himself. “No wonder you couldn’t wait to leave. Sweet stars, Rist, I don’t know what happened. Your arm, too?” Thrawn sank onto a stool as if he’d been struck.

“You were drunk,” Ristlin suggested.

Thrawn shook his head. “I didn’t have that much to drink. I can’t have blocked it—if I were going to start blocking out memories, there are some others that would be gone as well.”

Ristlin nodded silently. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about memories. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No.”

“What did you eat at the palace?”

Thrawn told him. In perfect detail, every dish.

“I could take a blood sample and send it for random screening. Just in case.”

Thrawn nodded and unfastened his uniform tunic. Mutely, he shrugged out of it, revealing an undershirt, the suspenders and waistband of his jodhpurs, his muscular arms and chest taut beneath his clothes. Ristlin left him alone and fetched a blood kit. He came back and drew the blood in a business-like fashion, concentrating only on the task at hand. But he kept his distance. Thrawn made no sudden moves and no effort to reach out, even though he wanted to. Ristlin behaved like a skittish colt, and it looked like he had reason.

“I can get this run this afternoon. If something was drugged, I’ll know tonight.” He moved away as soon as the samples were complete.

Thrawn retrieved his tunic. “I am sorry. I can’t imagine what I....I haven’t seen you this way since....”

Realization hit him. Flashes of memory of how they first met, six years ago, back when Ristlin was a medical technician and Thrawn a Commander on the _Starspear_ , under Captain Mershak. It had taken months for Ristlin to recover from the abuses of their captain enough to let anyone touch him. Thrawn stepped back toward the door, shocked that Ristlin’s reaction to him could be as severe.

Ristlin looked away. He gripped the edge of the table to avoid shaking. “At least, with him, I could talk to someone....”

‘Me,’ thought Thrawn. ‘I pulled him out of that.’ He fastened his tunic and retreated to the door. “I’ll be on the ship,” he offered. “If you need anything, let Commander Briese know to interrupt me. I’ll wait until I hear from you.” He paused only a moment at the door and then was gone.

Ristlin’s knees buckled. Only his grip on the table kept him from collapsing entirely. His wrist ached with the effort. It was hard enough to banish the replay of the previous night, but the end of their conversation brought his experience of six years ago painfully to the surface. He sank to the floor, leaning against the cupboard which supported the table.

Another knock sounded and the door creaked open timidly. “Ristlin?” Kathe called, stepping inside and closing the door. “Are you still in here?” She clopped in further and saw him huddled on the floor, unable to answer. “Are you all right?” Kathe had some trouble sitting on the floor next to him, but managed to wedge herself between the tables. “You are fighting, aren’t you?”

Ristlin looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. Of all the colleagues he had, Kathe was most likely to be sympathetic. Her protective instinct, coupled with Boromran sensibility, made her concern for him the more sincere. But he couldn’t talk right now. He had work to do, and he had to send Thrawn’s blood sample down for screening. “No, we’re not fighting.”

“He just choked you and sprained your wrist,” she said sarcastically.

“Not him,” Ristlin answered. “At least, I hope not really.” He held up the vial of dark liquid. “I want to get this tested for signatures of any narcotics. I wouldn’t be defending him if it weren’t for the memory loss,” he told her.

Kathe cursed in her own tongue, a sound very much like a whinny.

“Thrawn has an eidetic memory, but he can’t remember anything surrounding his—attack. There has to be a logical explanation for it, somewhere.”

“Ristlin,” Kathe said, and at that moment she looked far older than the student she was, “your personal life is your business, but once a relationship has turned violent, it’s not going to go back.”

“Let’s see if he was drugged and didn’t know it. Or took something and won’t admit it. Then I’ll worry about whether it will happen again.”

“Have you got a place to stay?”

“Yes, I—that is, he’s going to stay on his ship until we—until—”

“If you need anything, call me. I get very angry with friends who don’t take advantage of me from time to time.” She struggled to her hooves, using the cupboard doors and the tabletop to hoist herself up. Then she struck a melodramatic pose and declared, “And if he so much as threatens you, so help me, I’ll charge in with all my brothers to back me up!”

 

Ristlin stayed in the lab long past time to leave. He had sent Kathe down with the sample and a request that the lab techs call his office as soon as the results were compiled. He reached the phase of his testing where his specimens had to sit in refrigeration overnight, and to fill the time, puttered about the lab, cleaning, straightening his things, updating the catalog of references. When his comm chimed, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He answered on audio only, with a shaking hand.

 

“Captain, there’s a communication coming in for you, sir, with a private signal,” A junior officer told him through the com system.

“Thank you. Put it through, please.” Thrawn shut off the vid he’d been studying and secured his intercom.

“Captain Thrawn.”

“It’s me.” Ristlin’s voice sounded shaky, but not as close to breakdown as that afternoon.

“You’ve got the results, then?” Thrawn asked unnecessarily, to fill the void.

“Yes. There weren’t any distinct narcotic substances traced. But I asked them to do a comparison study to human normal, and to cross-reference it with spice combinations, like in the food they served last night.”

“And they found something?”

“Aya. In humans, it wouldn’t cause a reaction. But, the composition of your blood contains a higher concentration of certain hormones, and—” he broke off, whether for breath or emotion or to break his scientific explanation, Thrawn couldn’t tell on the audio.

“Um,” Ristlin continued. “Someone’s poisoning you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Thrawn selected “Record” from his console before continuing. “Are you sure?”

“Well, there’s a chance it’s not deliberate, but even the palace tasters are human. Someone is either making a really big oversight, or someone is orchestrating it. The toxins work slowly, and over several different doses, so it’s impossible to tell.”

“But it would be foolish to simply assume that it’s a mistake. Which specific substances cause the reaction?”

Ristlin rattled off a number of compounds. “Basically, cree and hinjin in any combination with each other or with hasama. Hasama by itself, in enough quantity.”

“Hasama is an enhancer; it doesn’t have a discernible flavor.”

“I know.”

“I’ll send a communiqué to the palace kitchens, listing them as dietary restrictions. If it’s an honest error, that will correct it. If not, then perhaps the person or persons responsible will be made aware that I know.”

“Won’t that put you in danger?”

“Ristlin, they were already trying to poison me.”

“That’s my point.”

“How long will the effects last?”

“I don’t know. This is the first incident that has manifested, so either it’s the first attempt or they’ve been doing this for a while. You might want to have a talk with your galley, by the way. If it’s the third or fourth time, there could be enough toxin in your bloodstream for it to take a week to cycle it out. But we also don’t know enough about a lot of your secondary systems to be able to predict exactly how you’ll detoxify. You’re the only Chiss we’ve had access to; there’s no study for the databases. The cree and the hinjin are what have been triggering the outbursts, but it’s the hasama that’ll kill you.” Ristlin almost laughed. “Whoever it is sure doesn’t know where you sleep. Any chemist could detect this pretty easily.”

“Only if they were looking for known toxins.”

“Only if they were looking for anything causing toxicity. Hasama is known to be poisonous for some races, only those races don’t frequent palace dinners. They’re subtle, but they’re not that subtle.”

“If I didn’t know it was poisonous, how could they?”

Thrawn could feel Ristlin shrug. “Good question. But maybe they just thought they’d try it and see. If you think about it, it’s a safe way to go. If it works, great; if not, you just eat interesting tasting food. And if they’re in no particular hurry to see it work, no one would suspect until you started exhibiting symptoms, which—”

“—Would mean first that they know it’s working, and second that they can speed the pace if they need to. Especially if they mean to use my erratic behavior against me publicly. Ristlin, where are you?”

“I’m still at work, but we’re secure from my end, have been since I called.”

“No, that’s all right; only if someone has been planning to turn their own poison into a campaign, they might be tracking my movements, and by extension your own. Is anyone still there?”

“Here? I don’t think so, it’s after nine.”

“Don’t go home by your normal route.”

“All right.”

“And arm the security, will you?”

“Yes,” he said with an audible expiration of air.

“I can’t come back down for a day or two. It would look odd. I’m supposed to go to a lecture at the Observatory on Saturday. I’ll take a shuttle to the surface on Friday, then, all right?”

“Aya, that’s fine. I’ll want another sample before then, though, to run more tests.”

“Understood. I’ll be doing some investigation of my own, too. Just be careful while you’re alone?”

“I always am. You, too, you know. You’re liable to be irrational more than once before this stuff leaves your system.”

 

He considered staying at the Institute all night. There were beds and showers, and he could eat there and avoid having to leave. But he decided it would be better to go home and make himself more comfortable there. 

“Good evening, Master Ristlin, shall I heat your dinner for you?” asked the household droid as it opened the door and took his briefcase. 

“No,” he answered. He pushed past it and sat heavily on the couch, activating the vidscreen to access his messages.

“A drink, perhaps? Captain Thrawn indicated that you were to be made comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable and I can get my own drink. Shut down until further notice.”

“Shutting down, sir,” the droid replied without inflection. It shuffled down the hall to its closet in the kitchen and entered its “sleep” cycle.

The droid was a butler, maid, and general all-around household servant in one. It was also another source of debate between Ristlin and Thrawn. Ristlin had nothing against droids, only a different attitude. Back home on Alderaan, they needed the droids for certain tasks in the orchards and the pressing rooms. But they had to pay for every kilowatt hour spent powering them. Consequently, they only employed them for necessary tasks, which would either be too arduous or too dangerous for their human employees. Household chores were not a priority for droids. Ristlin didn’t like to get in the habit of a droid doing everything. Besides, he disliked being served all the time, something which Thrawn sometimes seemed to take for granted. Of course, Thrawn didn’t have time to cook, and certainly his standards of cleanliness were difficult to conform to without extra help. 

Ristlin decided a drink probably was in order. After all, he had been through a lot in less than 24 hours. As he rose to make his selection, he remembered the last time the “droid dilemma” came up between them. It was about nine months ago, when Thrawn was on his way home from a mission....

 

He had been at work in the studio, decidedly off limits to the household droid even when it was on. Thrawn had been away for months, deep in the Outer Rim planets cleaning up an insurrection, or something. The disc of music Ristlin was playing ended, and in the silence he heard the faint chime of an incoming message. Stretching, he put down his tools and hurried out to the nearest comm station to see who it was. 

“Ristlin, if you’re there, answer,” he heard Thrawn say crisply.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he called out, lunging for the button on the vidscreen to pick up the call.

“Ah. Working in the studio?” It was more an observation than a question. Ristlin worked in an old lab coat, which had become stained with paint, plaster, and other substances over the years.

“Aya. You’re lucky the disc changed or I wouldn’t have heard you.”

“The droid could have answered it and gotten you, but you’ve got it switched off.” Thrawn teased lightly.

“Aya. But that’s not why you called.”

“I’ll be home in two days.”

“Good,” Ristlin said, sneaking a look around the place. He usually turned the droid back on shortly before Thrawn was due back, just so the state of the apartment wouldn’t send him into fits. 

Seeing him glance away, Thrawn smiled. “It’s a wreck, isn’t it?” he surmised.

“No, not really. Nothing serious, just some dishes and maybe some laundry.”

“It wouldn’t get out of hand if you left the droid on,” Thrawn told him with a hint of annoyance through the amusement.

“Old habits die hard. I was going to let him loose anyway, just to keep it under control. If I leave him off for a whole month, he blows a gasket when I turn him back on.”

“It.” Thrawn muttered.

“Him. Live here. It’s a him. Which brings me to my next question.”

“I’ll only be home for a week or two. They’re shuffling assignments and they didn’t expect us to clean up so quickly, so it’s back to Coruscant for a bit before they know where to send us next. We just dropped out of hyperspace to replenish our fuel and I thought I’d let you know.”

“Overachieving as usual?”

Thrawn shrugged. “Predictable situation. Their artwork is totally unoriginal, probably hasn’t changed significantly in 100 years. I’ve downloaded their galleries to show you.”

Just then a beep sounded on Thrawn’s end. “That’s our signal from the station. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Aya,” Ristlin nodded just as Thrawn’s signal cut out. Since he had been interrupted, he cleaned up a bit. He had told Thrawn the mess wasn’t too bad, and it wasn’t—by his standards. Thrawn would have classified the place as a sty. He picked up the dishes and put them in the washer for the droid, likewise stuffing the laundry from the bedroom into the hamper. That way, the droid wouldn’t scream in its small electronic voice about having to gather everything together before actually cleaning anything. Then he decided to check and see if there were any other calls he had missed. On that occasion, there had been, from his sister on Alderaan.

 

Tonight, as he went through the messages and the electronic mail, the only call of significance was also from his sister. He called up the message and her face blossomed on the screen. 

“Hi. Just haven’t heard from you in a while and wanted to. You’re probably out or in your studio or something. Hope everything’s going well. Well, you know where we are.”

He contacted the Central Interstellar Communications Coalition (CICC) to find out what time it was in Risia on Alderaan. He put the call through, deciding that if he hurried, he could catch them before the children’s bedtime.

The comm station pinged twice before someone picked it up. “Namara Orcha—Ristlin!” His brother-in-law answered. “Hallo. Here, I’ll put Marden on and find Senna, she’s outside.” He ducked out of sight for a moment, then the screen showed him lifting a young boy to the screen. “Talk to your uncle for a minute, Marden.”

“Uncle Ris!” The boy beamed into the vidscreen.

“Hallo, sport. How’s the champ?”

“I can do fifty chin-ups and a double flip dismount. Where’s Uncle Thrawn?”

“He’s not here right now. I got your mother’s message and called right away. What else have you been learning?”

Marden pounced into a litany of new and exciting 10-year-old’s discoveries, adequately filling the time until Senna appeared behind him. “All right, enough of you,” she told him, patting his head and helping him off the vidscreen seat. “I’m glad you got my call. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Senna. Is everything all right there?”

“Aya. We’re all good.” She had dark circles under her eyes, which were slightly bloodshot. Her face looked wan and thin, but her smile still transformed her into a bright, cheerful vision. “Not a very good crop this year, but enough to get by. Marden I’m sure has told you he wants to take up gymnastics, and Brina is still interested in veterinary. At least, that’s what she says when we ask her why she’s taken her stuffed animals apart.”

“How about you and Rickert?”

“Good, things are good. I just had a feeling I needed to talk to my little brother. Or that he needed to talk to me?”

Ristlin fought a momentary impulse to blurt out everything that had happened. But he remembered that he hadn’t secured the channel before calling, and that to do so now would be highly suspicious to anyone who might be monitoring communications from the apartment. “Things here are good, Senna. You look tired.”

“Life on the orchard, Rist. You look like you could use some sleep yoursel—Sweet stars, Rist, what happened to you?” She gestured at her own neck, noticing for the first time his bruises.

Ristlin’s hands flew to his throat, remembering them. “I—oh, nothing. Only I was mugged on the way home night before last,” he said quickly, borrowing an explanation. It had happened to a friend the month before, really, but it was the most likely thing he could think of in a hurry.

“Are you all right?”

“Aya, fine. Guy jumped me as I got off the transport. I was at work pretty late, and....” He let the lie trail off, not wanting to say more than he had to.

“Is Thrawn there? Does he know? Did you tell the gendarmes?”

“Yes, Thrawn knows, he was here when I got home, yes, we contacted the authorities and they’re doing what they can.”

“Is he there now?”

“Na, he had to go back to the ship for a day or two, a problem up there or something. Oh, he just found out last night that he’s going to get another commendation. I guess that puts him within a few points of an admiralty.”

“So soon?” This came from Rickert, who had come back to the screen behind Senna and was now listening.

“Not that soon. He was in command of a Victory-class ship three years ago; he’s been Captain of a Destroyer for almost 2 years.”

“It’s strange, though, that someone who obviously doesn’t fit into the Emperor’s ideals should rise so quickly.”

“Shh, Rickert,” Senna cautioned. “I’m sure that he deserves his promotion, be happy for him, can’t you? But I do wish you’d be more careful. Coruscant is so big, and Imperial City is so dangerous. And this means you’ll be alone for longer than ever. Why don’t you come back here and visit for a while?”

“Senna, you know I hate space travel.”

“What’s this about?” Rickert frowned at her.

“Ris says he was mugged, just the other night. Just like that. You know that wouldn’t happen here.”

“Are you all right?” Rickert asked him.

“Aya, yes, I’m fine. Look, it’s not a big deal. It’s not like it’s ever happened to me before.”

“You could have been killed.”

“Na, I had some credit with me. That’s all he wanted. Senna, please, don’t fret. Look, I’m going to have to go soon. Why don’t you put Brina on for a bit, and let me say hello.”

Senna went to get their six year old daughter, and Rickert stayed on. “She worries about you all the time. She knows that you’re alone a lot.”

“Not that much. I have friends in town here, and there’s my work, and my sculpture. Thrawn’s not here much, but that’s a different matter.”

“I wanted to talk to you, myself, a bit,” Rickert said.

“About?”

“I want Senna to take a vacation for a while. Since your father died, she’s been overworking herself. I want her and the kids to get away.”

“So you want them to come here for a while?”

“She’s always talking about you, Rist. I know last time it wasn’t well prepared, but they’re older, and—”

“And Thrawn’s always away, anyway. Would she agree to it?”

“I think I can—” Rickert began, but just then Senna came back with Brina in her arms.

“Unca Ris!” Brina reached out for the vidscreen as if to climb inside, already babbling all sorts of things.

“She asks about you all the time,” Senna explained. 

 

They talked for a few more minutes and then ended the transmission, mostly because Brina had to go to bed. Alone again, Ristlin set new discs in the player and poured himself a fresh drink. He sat, listening to the music, deciding whether he really wanted to look at his bruises.

The wrist had benefited greatly from wrapping, but it was beginning to itch. He unwrapped it slowly, rolling the bandage back on itself as he went. As the final layers peeled away, he felt the air touch his skin and cool it. It was a little whitened from the pressure of the bandage, but it moved with much less pain than that morning. He flexed it gently, then moved it in a circle, testing. It might stiffen overnight again, but air would be better than not at this point. 

The pain of swallowing had receded as well, he realized as he took another swig from his drink. And the bruises must not have been immediately noticeable, or Senna would have done so sooner. Still, the thought of going and assessing them made him think about what happened, which made him think about other times....

 

The Imperial Navy was renowned and feared throughout the galaxy for its discipline, efficiency, and the cruel and immediate suppression of any who did not conform to its orders. Many peoples could tell tales of their young men who failed to survive the harsh training they received at the hands of the Navy. Still, both volunteers and conscripts flocked in mass numbers to serve the machine of the Emperor. 

Aliens, particularly non-humanoid aliens, and women were all but excluded from direct service in the fleet, making up instead the vast network of support staff which it took to grease the wheels of the Imperial engine. As a result of the low female population on board ships, rumors had always abounded of exactly how the men kept up their morale in between shore leaves. But the honor code and the careful silence of Navy officers and enlisted men kept the stories just rumors.

To Ristlin, they were facts. Throughout his career in the Navy, he had continually found himself the object of unwanted attention from superior officers. From the drill instructor who promised him an easy survival track, to the cruel and sadistic Captain Mershak, it seemed that virtually every assignment eventually brought him under the thumb of some officer who could threaten, blackmail, or force his way on Ristlin. Mershak had by far been the worst, but it made previous abuses no easier to bear.

He was pretty. Even though his hair had been chopped to regulation standards, his face and slight body betrayed him as a target. Never exceptionally strong, and interested in medicine more than combat, he had only the most rudimentary defense skills. Even his mother had always called him “delicate.” Not that he didn’t run and climb and fight like any other boy, and win some of the time. Still, both he and his sister resembled their mother much more than their father. But worse for him in the Navy was his early discovery about himself.

He was only 13 when he knew for certain. Senna was almost 18 then, and already going out with a number of boys, including Rickert, whom she liked the best but wouldn’t say it. He and his friend, Lind, were working for his father in the orchard, and were often up late in the pressroom, pressing the fruits for the juice which would become Alderaanian wine. He remembered that first night when the two looked at each other across the vats of juice, and something between them changed. Almost in unison, they crossed the floor and hugged one another tightly. Lind kissed him, and he kissed back.

They might have gone further except that a press malfunctioned and beeped for attention. They finished the night’s press in an awkward silence, each one stealing glances at the other and looking away quickly.

Ristlin wandered into the orchard that night, chilly but too confused to care. He took a cloak with him from the coldroom, and this he spread on the ground in a grove of trees to lie on and look at the stars. His father believed he should see the galaxy before settling into the business for good, get an idea of how things worked outside of Alderaan. Ristlin wondered about whether he would like traveling about to different places—not that the places themselves wouldn’t be wonderful to visit, but the thought of lengthy hyperspace journeys with no open skies anywhere except streaming past the viewports—that he didn’t think he’d enjoy. Stars lost their mystery in space. Thinking of mysteries, what exactly had happened with him and Lind? Lind was only a little older, not even quite a year older, in fact, and more than once Senna had caught him watching her when he shouldn’t. What did that kiss mean? Maybe he didn’t say anything after because he wished he hadn’t done it. One thing was certain, Ristlin liked kissing Lind. Was that wrong? He thought about the girls he knew whom he might like to kiss. One or two came to mind immediately. But how to explain why he felt the same about Lind? Somehow, he didn’t think it was the kind of thing he could talk to his parents about. Maybe Senna would know. She was in love with Rickert, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She must know what made a person want to kiss someone else.

He wrapped his cloak around him and headed back to the house. He slipped inside the back door and hung his cloak to dry for morning. Then he crept upstairs to see if Senna was home yet from her date.

Her room was still empty, which left him alone once more with his thoughts, and more importantly, his doubts. The press had interrupted them, but if it hadn’t, would Lind have pulled away? Would they have continued? To do what? He suddenly wanted to know all about what to do, and the desire brought a familiar sensation to his body, the heat spreading into his legs and his torso. He tiptoed down the hall to his own room, throwing himself into bed and burying his head in his pillow once inside. What was Lind doing now? Was he home yet, maybe in his own bed, maybe just as aroused? Ristlin tried desperately to calm himself and go to sleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Lind, and the more he thought, the more he wanted to be with him. Finally, he rose and went to the bathroom to relieve his turmoil with a cold shower.

It helped quite a bit. The cold water shocked him at first, but as he stepped underneath the flow, wetting his hair and splashing his face, the feelings eased and finally passed. He lingered for some time, hoping to ensure the effect would not wear off as soon as he stopped the water. When he was quite sure he had regained control, he shut off the water and dried himself. 

 

Ristlin shook his head clear of reminiscence, but the concept of a shower struck him in his musings as a sensible idea. He had one that morning, feeling decidedly unclean, but some residual feelings stuck to him like a clinging atmosphere, humid and unnaturally warm. He examined his neck briefly before turning on the water. It really wasn’t as bad as it had felt that morning, but the bruises were turning ugly. He would have to wear a high-collared shirt tomorrow. 

He stepped into the small chamber. Steam from the hot water rose up around him and he tensed his muscles under the flow, then relaxed them, manufacturing a massage from the pressure. If the household droid was a concession to Thrawn, then the shower was one for Ristlin. Most apartments, particularly military quarters, on Coruscant were equipped with the so-called sonic showers found on starships. They used recycled water, but only to rinse the skin after it was pulsated with low-pitch and high-pitch resonance, custom-engineered to exfoliate dead skin and dirt and sweat. Utilitarian enough, but nowhere near the enjoyable experience of steam and hot streams of water with which Ristlin grew up on Alderaan. Even Thrawn had come to view it as a luxury to be anticipated.

Suddenly, Ristlin felt like fire ants were crawling over all his skin. He found himself scrubbing his skin as if to rub it off, especially his back and buttocks and legs, where Thrawn had assaulted him. He couldn’t get them clean enough. His face felt hot and his vision blurred with hot tears. He threw down the sponge he’d been using and it splatted on the shower floor. Sobbing, he sat under the flow of water, holding his knees tightly. 

All the times he had been coerced, forced, or otherwise convinced to have sex, even though he didn’t want to, had been with people who wanted power over him. People who didn’t know him, didn’t care, and about whom he could not care less. But Thrawn was different. Drug-induced or not, Thrawn had abused him as viciously as anyone ever had. Warring voices told him that Kathe was right, that it would never be the same, but that there was a legitimate reason for the attack and that if someone were trying to assassinate him, the last thing Thrawn needed was to be abandoned by his lover. But for every reason he could think of to forgive Thrawn, he could also think of a reason to run away as far and fast as possible. The hardest thing he ever had to do was wait until six months or a year passed on a ship before requesting a transfer, after a superior began making advances. It was necessary, in the Navy, because too many transfers too close together would look bad in the record. But now, the only thing that kept him here was that he cared for Thrawn. And that was considerably rocky anyway, given how things had been recently. He felt tired, confused, alone, hurt, and frightened. Admonishing himself, he turned off the water and pulled himself out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He rubbed the excess water off his hair, brushed it, and braided it mechanically. He hesitated before the open door to the bedroom, considering sleeping in the spare room instead.

“Stars,” he said, pressing forward despite his misgivings. He found a fresh pair of shorts and put them on, turned on the bedside light and switched the ambient light out, and sat in the bed where only last night—

“Na.” he said aloud. “If you keep thinking that way, you’ll never recover.” He pulled a library link from the bedside table and tried to read, but gave up after the paragraph still made no sense on the third try. He sent the link back and turned out the lights in disgust.

 

By Friday, Ristlin’s bruises were all manner of intriguing colors, and his wrist no longer required a brace. He forced himself to follow his usual routine as if nothing were wrong. After years of oppression in the Navy, he knew how to watch his back without making it obvious. Only on one issue did he compromise his usual pattern: he left early to be home when Thrawn arrived.

Armed with the additional tests he had performed the two days before, Ristlin bustled through the mid-afternoon crowds back to the military district. He got nervous about a young man in a sandy coat, but the possible tail stopped at an open air restaurant, greeting an equally young woman there. Ristlin went on, taking a more or less direct route home.

He arrived to find their quarters quiet and undisturbed since he left. He checked through the apartment anyway, to make sure there had been no intrusion. Satisfied, he activated the household droid and hand programmed instructions to sweep for cameras or listening devices. He felt paranoid, and yet justified in his worry. The droid answered affirmatively and bobbled off to do its own search. Ristlin paged through the hard copies of the test results again, making sure they were all there. He turned on the vidicom and ran a systems check of it. As the computer whirled its discs and read its boards, he paced the living room like a caged animal. 

Just about the time he felt ready to call the ship, the station, anything to track Thrawn’s progress, the security door clicked and slid open. He heard someone removing a coat and putting it away. The atrium door opened smoothly and the Captain walked in.

Ristlin reflexively distanced himself as the door slid shut behind Thrawn and the Captain advanced. Neither spoke for a short while, each assessing the other and waiting. The droid returned from its final sweep and announced that no devices or probes of any sort were present.

“You’ve been home a while,” Thrawn observed. He ordered a drink which the droid bustled off to prepare.

“About an hour.” Ristlin said, clearing his throat as his voice wavered. “I thought it would be better if—”

“No, it’s good that you’re here. I just wasn’t sure you’d want to be.” Thrawn’s tone was mild, not at all accusatory, and he avoided lifting his red eyes to Ristlin’s cool blue ones. The droid returned with his drink and he sent it to the entryway with orders to alert them if anyone approached the door. As he had in the office earlier that week, Thrawn made no sudden moves, nothing threatening or surprising. Ristlin took a deep breath and exhaled in a shuddering sigh. 

“Did you find out anything about the poison source?” Ristlin asked nervously.

“No. I sent Briese to the surface to nose around, in the Palace kitchens and so on, but he couldn’t turn up any leads. No one at the Palace has been issuing orders who shouldn’t, no unusual activity on the ship, nothing.”

“The toxicology reports are on the display,” he told Thrawn. “You can look them over if you like.” Thrawn nodded and slowly moved to the seat in front of the vidicom. “I ran the data several times, using different parameters, but it basically comes down to the same answer,” Ristlin continued, picking up speed on the safer of their topics. “The hasama concentration over the last two days of samples is decreasing, but—”

“Rist,” Thrawn said softly, “come sit down.”

“Um. Right. All right.” He sank into a chair to the right of the vid display, tucking one leg up in front of him. His eyes flicked all over the room, resting on the corner of the table. “Um. Anyway, the levels of toxicity from the hasama—”

“Rist.” Thrawn interrupted again. “We can get to that later. I think we need to talk about us.”

Ristlin shook his head. “Whatever you were exposed to hasn’t been supplemented since—”

Thrawn spoke over Ristlin’s recital of figures and facts. “Rist, please. That’s not important right now. I can’t worry about that until we talk about what happened here. Rist, listen, can’t we—”

“....Will gradually recede—No!” Ristlin leapt up and put the chair between himself and Thrawn. “I can’t. I don’t want to. I can’t.” He backed away almost to the edge of the room, hugging himself fiercely, fighting tears. 

“Stars, Rist. I’m sorry. What can I do? I’m afraid to touch you, and I’m afraid that if I don’t—Do you have any notion how hard this is? To know that I caused you this much pain, and that I can’t help, can’t make it go away? Rist, I don’t think I’d blame you if you couldn’t—” he closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath. “—Couldn’t forgive me, but can we at least talk about it?”

In the silence that followed, Ristlin fought his instinct to run, to pack his things and leave, to lunge at Thrawn with fists, a whole range of fight-or-flight impulses. Thrawn sat like a stone, hardly breathing, not moving, waiting for the answer to his question. Whatever else had happened, he was in control of himself today. Fearing the outcome all the same, Ristlin swallowed and nodded his head slowly. “Aya,” he croaked, then cleared his throat again. “Yes, all right.” Sighing, he came back to his seat apart from Thrawn.

Thrawn reached out and switched off the vid display, so they could see each other without the hologram between them. He looked at his drink, almost empty except for the melting ice. “I’m going to get more,” he announced before standing. “Do you want anything?” Ristlin shook his head. Thrawn went to the bar and fixed his drink, then poured some water for Ristlin and set it down next to his own. Slowly, he slid the glass of water to the edge of the table nearest Ristlin. Another awkward silence settled between them.

“How long is it going to take to recover from this?” Thrawn murmured softly. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know.” Ristlin closed his eyes to avoid looking into Thrawn’s. “It’s different—was different while you weren’t here. More distance, I guess. Just I can’t help expecting the worst. Even though I know you weren’t in control of yourself.”

“You’re waiting for me to turn into a monster.” 

“Aya,” Ristlin agreed sadly. “I hate it, but I am.”

Thrawn swigged his drink with a deep breath and blew out noisily. The air came out raggedly, betraying his outward calm. “So,” he said at last. “How can we reassure you that I’m not going to—” his voice staggered on the word— “assault you again?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to think of something, but....”

“If you don’t trust me, if you’re really that uncertain, why are you here with me now?” Thrawn asked quietly, almost as if to himself.

“Well, it wasn’t your intention, and given the situation, with the drug effect and all, I didn’t think it would help matters to cut and run.”

“But you wanted to.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still want to?” Despite himself, Thrawn looked up at Ristlin, the intensity of his question pulsing behind his red eyes.

“Sometimes.”

“Then go.” Thrawn tipped back his glass and emptied it, rising to get another.

Ristlin watched him fill his glass again, entirely casual, cold, as if staying or going meant nothing to him. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, climbing out of his own chair.

“Of course. If you don’t want to be here, if I make you that uncomfortable, then go. I’m not stopping you.”

“Just like that. What about the last four years? Don’t they mean anything? Is this some sort of psychology?”

“No, no psychology, Rist. And while we’re on the subject of history, what about it? I should think our history said more than one night and a poisoner. But if it’s going to take separation, time, kid gloves, to gain your trust back, after six years, not four, Rist, six, then go on. You tell me when you’re ready to start over. I’ll tell you if I am.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about it now. It will take time, Thrawn, but not forever. I know on one level that it was the toxins acting, but there’s another part of me that feels betrayed and...and violated. Let me concentrate on reversing the toxin, and maybe I’ll get back to normal. Don’t stand there and say we should just throw it away.”

“You’ve been thinking it.” Thrawn said in a low, serious, almost accusing voice.

“Thinking it, scared to think it, yes, but not seriously suggesting it.”

“No, even before that night. Since I came back last month, you’ve been wondering about us.”

“A little. It is getting harder. But that’s not the issue. We don’t know how long the poisoner has been at this, it could have been building for weeks, increasing the tension without our knowing it—”

“You’re reaching, Ristlin. The truth is, we just don’t see the Empire the same way, and that will always be between us. Perhaps this is a good opportunity to break things off, before it goes too far.”

“Opportunity!? Next you’ll want me to think you’re staging this, falsifying blood samples so I’ll think I should leave, when you want to cut it loose. Do you want to end this?”

“That’s not what I said, Ristlin—”

“Do you? Do you want to end this?”

“NO!” Thrawn shouted, slamming his glass down on the bar. “But maybe we should. For both our sakes.”

“For our sakes? For your sake. For your career? That’s what this is about, when all’s said and done. You wouldn’t be a target, you wouldn’t be stationed out patrolling the Outer Rim, if it weren’t for me. Never mind the fact that you’re an obvious non-human in the Emperor’s Navy, famous for its oppression of anyone different, non-human or otherwise. The truth is, Thrawn, he gave you back your life and you feel beholden, and you’ll do anything they tell you to keep your career moving up.”

“Showing a spine, at last, Ristlin? Maybe all we needed was a good argument.” Thrawn shook his head and smiled slowly.

“Burn in space,” Ristlin offered, and left the room. 

 

When Ristlin came back through the sitting room with his small duffel, Thrawn was reading through the test results on the vidscreen. He had moved the bottle off the bar and brought it to the table, but otherwise showed no signs of upset. Only as Ristlin passed in front of the couch did Thrawn say anything. “Where are you going?”

“To Kars’s. He’s expecting me. I’ll come by tomorrow while you’re out and get the rest.”

“I don’t think so.”

“My clothes, my things, Thrawn, I won’t take anything else. You can have the art, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I don’t think you’re going anywhere.” Thrawn stood and advanced on Ristlin, backing him toward the tapestry on the wall.

“Think again. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“No, as I recall I told you that you were mine, anytime I wanted you, that we would be together, no matter what. Don’t you remember?” Thrawn reached out quickly and snatched the duffel from Ristlin’s shoulder, tossing it aside. His muscles rippled with contained energy, making Ristlin excited and frightened at once. Ristlin backed into the wall, horrified that the monster had emerged again.

“Thrawn, stop now,” he said firmly, as if to a child. “You’re having another episode, Thrawn, back off.” Ristlin sidled toward the door, keeping the wall at his back, but as he broke, Thrawn slammed his hand against the wall, barring the way. Ristlin ducked under the outstretched arm, lunging for the atrium door. It slid open as he entered its sensors, but Thrawn was right behind him. As the door shut behind them, the droid’s “head” swiveled to scan their vital signs. 

Scrambling out of the way, Ristlin shouted at the droid, “Override code A73B, stun now!” The droid aimed at Thrawn and fired, a small burst that caught him squarely in the chest and knocked him out. He fell backward, opening the door back into the sitting room.

Breathing heavily, in shock, Ristlin pulled Thrawn back inside and called Kars on the vidicom’s most secure channel.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” Ristlin admonished himself again. Together, he and Kars were systematically analyzing every food and drink in the apartment. Kars Newarn, a Corellian with rugged looks and close-cropped hair, had listened to Ristlin’s story and brought his tools. Within an hour, the Lieutenant in Computational Operations and amateur slicer had programmed the household computer to scan for chemical compounds through the vidlink. Ristlin prepared small samples of each substance, starting with Thrawn’s blood and the alcohol he had been drinking, and placed each one under the vidlink, adjusting the computer’s magnification. Every so often, he checked on Thrawn, whom he had carried into the bedroom. At least if he woke up still intoxicated and deluded, Kars would be here to help control him.

“It’s not your fault,” Kars assured him. “Obviously, Thrawn didn’t think about it either, and you know how unlikely he is to overlook any possibility. It’s not unusual to assume that your own home is safe haven.”

“Feeling safe is one thing, Kars. If he’d finished the bottle, it could have killed him.”

“Not to mention that a fifth of Andulerian whiskey has a high enough alcohol content to send you or me into sick bay with poisoning of its own.”

“Hm.” Ristlin ran a few calculations and numbers scrolled down the screen. “Well, he doesn’t have alcohol poisoning, thanks to his tolerance.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a ragged sigh. “But there was definitely a high concentration of hasama in that bottle. Worse, from the speed of his reaction to it, I’d say he’s getting more sensitive.”

“Well, from what you said, was there enough time for all the toxin to have been depleted before this dose?”

“Na, that’s the problem. His toxicity was lower, but not completely nil. Could also be that the alcohol compounded the effects of the poison. I just don’t know. There’s so much about his physiognomy that is unknown. Even Thrawn doesn’t know—he wasn’t a biologist.” He stretched back against the cushions of the sofa.

“Well, I’d suggest you double check your deliveries. Better yet, cancel them and get supplies randomly, so they can’t bring you poisoned food.”

“Aya. And I’ll leave the droid on to guard the place.”

“Well, there’s a miracle. Thrawn finally got you to agree to leave the droid on.” Kars grinned wickedly, receiving a small cushion in the face for his remark.

“Good. You’re smiling. Look, I’ll stay tonight, and tomorrow we’ll replace all your groceries. It’ll be okay, Rist.” Kars flopped onto the sofa next to Ristlin, placing a protective arm around the other man’s shoulders.

Ristlin leaned into Kars’s side, rubbing his eyes in a mixture of frustration, worry, remorse, and pain. Exhausted, his composure slipped away and soon he was sobbing quietly onto Kars’s shoulder.

“You could have called me sooner,” Kars told him gently.

“Thanks. It’s just that you get used to handling problems on your own. Especially this kind.” Ristlin pulled away and sat up, running a hand up his forehead and adjusting his topknot. 

Kars grimaced with understanding. Of all Ristlin’s friends, saving Thrawn, Kars knew the most about Ristlin’s history. The two had met ten years ago, while still in their first assignments, bunkmates on their first actual tour. Consequently, Kars had soon discovered Ristlin’s problem with a particular Commander on board....

 

Ristlin snuck back into the barrack with his boots off. Cat silent, he slipped into his bunk and lay in the darkness, listening to the breath of 31 men and trying to regulate his own. The bunk above his creaked, and Kars Newarn’s head appeared over the side of the bunk frame. “Hey, Ristlin, where were you?” he whispered.

“Shh. Classified mission, Newarn. Go to sleep.” Ristlin told him flatly.

“C’mon. When does a med tech go on classified missions? I won’t tell, man, I just want to know what’s worth breaking curfew.”

“I honestly can’t tell you, Kars. I can only say I was following orders.” 

“Whose orders, then?”

“Kars—”

“Pipe down over there!” their Junior Officer hissed. Kars disappeared back onto his bunk and both were silent for a while. The sounds of sleeping cadets once more settled on the barracks.

“Pss. Are you asleep?” Kars whispered again.

“How can I be with you yammering at me? You heard Opek, shut up.” Ristlin punched his flat pillow into something more comfortable and shut his eyes tight.

 

The next morning, as they entered the sonic shower stalls, Kars asked him again. “So whose orders had you out on special duty?” His tone teased lightly.

“I said, I can’t tell you. What part of this don’t you understand?”

“Namara! Newarn!” Both snapped to attention as their Commander, Toger Canomb, strode purposefully toward them. “What’s this gossiping in the ranks? Concentrate on your duties, you two. And you, Namara. Ensign Opek tells me you broke curfew last night?”

Despite his best effort, Ristlin flushed and stammered. “Sir—”

“Shut up! Report to me at 1500, Namara, with an explanation of your conduct. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“As for you, Newarn, another incident like this and I’ll have Opek enter 10 demerits on your record. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes sir.”

“Good.” He held them with his gaze for a moment, appraising their intimidation level. “Now get back to your unit.”

As soon as Canomb was out of range, Kars snorted in disgust. “Whew. I sure hope you’ve got a good reason to have been out, Rist. Sounds like he’s got it in for you.” When Ristlin said nothing, Kars turned to look. “Hey, are you okay? You look like hell all of a sudden.”

Fuming, Ristlin clenched his fists until they shook. “Bastard. He’s the reason I broke curfew and he knows it.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Stay out of it, Kars, if you know what’s good for you.”

 

Opek released Ristlin at 1445 to report to Canomb as ordered. He went to the Commander’s office, hoping the dressing-down had been just for show, but certain there was more to this visit than appearances. He pressed the call button and waited for the door to open and allow him entrance.

Canomb stayed seated behind his desk as Ristlin came in and saluted. “So, Namara. Have you any explanation for your conduct?” he asked playfully.

Stealing a glance to either side to make sure they were alone, Ristlin answered carefully. “Commander, I believe you are aware of the circumstances—”

“That’s not the conduct I mean.” Canomb said, coming around the desk. “No one should have seen you return, and I certainly expect that you won’t be speaking of it to anyone, least of all Kars Newarn. Now, I’m sure you have a reasonable answer as to why you were talking to him, don’t you?” He waved a hand inquiringly, giving leave for Ristlin to speak.

“Sir, I can assure you I said nothing. I can’t stop him from asking questions, but I have no intention of answering them.”

“Why did he see you in the first place?”

“Commander, I didn’t know he would be awake.”

“Why don’t you tell me what he asked, and what you said.” He passed behind Ristlin, close enough to brush shoulders.

“He asked where I’d been, I told him I couldn’t tell him, it was classified.”

“Resourceful, Namara, good,” he whispered in Ristlin’s ear, circling him.

“Then he wanted to know whose orders, and I wouldn’t say. He was asking again when you stopped him. Sir,” he added hastily at the raised eyebrow from the officer.

“Well. All right, your discretion isn’t at fault here. Good. I’d hate to have our understanding breached,” he said as he secured the lock on the door. “And speaking of breeches, let yours down.”

 

The next time Kars had any hint of the situation with his friend was a few weeks later. The two had used their off-duty time in the gym, enjoying the minimal freedom, but wishing the ship had more of the amenities found in the Republic days. “A real rec center, like they used to have,” mused Kars. “That’s what this place needs for morale.” Ristlin finished his sonic shower in a perfunctory fashion, saying something about how there was no comparison to a real water shower. He toweled off and went to dress, leaving Kars in the stalls.

When Kars finished his shower and came back to the locker room, he heard voices inside. Knowing that Ristlin was there, he proceeded cautiously, ready for trouble but curious to discover his friend’s secrets. As he padded through the aisles of lockers, the voices—voice, mostly, became clearer. 

“You received a direct order to report to me at 1900, Ensign. You failed to report.” Commander Canomb lectured. “Have you forgotten the training you received at Academy? Always follow orders, unquestionably? You have potential, you know. You came highly recommended by Drill Master Segeris. However, this utter disregard for discipline has got to stop. I will not tolerate it in my unit, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Ristlin said resignedly.

“Failure to exhibit the proper enthusiasm for service to the Empire, Ensign?”

“Sir, no sir.” Ristlin’s voice contained energy, but little conviction.

“I think so. Therefore, you will report directly to me each evening this week during your off duty shift, for special detention assignments. If you won’t follow orders, you will be forced to obey. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes sir.” Ristlin muttered.

Kars heard a slam and a grunt. “What?” came Commander Canomb’s menacing voice.

“Sir, yes sir!” Ristlin barked, as if they were back at Academy.

“Good.” Kars heard another slam, less forceful, and boot heels clicking away from the lockers, then the door slid open and snicked shut.

“Ristlin? Are you all right?” Kars said, stepping around the lockers. Ristlin crouched against a closed locker, arms hugging his stomach, the thin towel gaping around his legs. It looked like he had been thrown against the door and slid.

Ristlin looked up with a start. His face was ash white, as if mortally afraid. “How much did you hear?” he asked.

“Enough. Canomb can’t touch you, you should report him.”

“Aya, right. That’ll work. Thanks.” Ristlin picked himself up and repositioned his towel strategically. He opened his locker and began to dress.

“Really. Regulations say that senior officers cannot in any way lay hands on a junior. It’s, what? It’s conduct unbecoming.”

“Kars, believe me, I’ve been here before. It doesn’t do any good. In fact, it makes it worse.”

“But—”

“Look, I told you before, stay out of this. It’s my problem.” Sighing, Ristlin turned back to his locker and refused to address the topic again.

 

All that week, Opek dutifully made sure that Ristlin reported for his “detention,” completely unaware that he was consigning the ensign to conduct unbecoming an officer of the Imperial Navy. Kars waited up past lights out to watch his friend return from the Commander, usually stiff and hissing in pain as he lay down, but didn’t ask any questions about it. The week passed, and things returned to normal for a while. The cadets were integrated into the routine of the ship, their primary stations handing out assignments and rotations, dealing with different parts of the ship’s operations. Although Commander Canomb was discreet, his special attention to Namara became noticeable to many of the cadets in their barrack. One night, when Ristlin was called to the Commander’s quarters by the medical officer, some of their classmates asked Kars what he thought was going on.

“I don’t know. But a few weeks ago, I overheard the Commander in the locker rooms by the 23rd deck gym. I can’t say I witnessed anything, but I’m pretty sure he bounced Ristlin off a locker or two.”

“Our CO? You’re joking. He goes by the book on everything. I think he sleeps with a copy of the Rules and Reg’s under his pillow,” said a mechanical tech.

“Newarn, if you knew, why didn’t you two report it?” asked Odaris, a navigational cadet.

“I said we should, but Ristlin wouldn’t let me. He said it would make things worse, whatever that meant.”

“Means that if the CO gets wind of who reported him, and he would, he’d take it out on Namara,” said one, Makirna by name.

“I still say you’re wrong,” said the tech.

“Believe what you want, man. I was there.”

“But you didn’t see anything, you only heard,” Odaris clarified.

“Yeah, I heard Canomb tell him that Segeris recommended him, and that he was going to make sure Ris lived up to expectations.”

“Segeris? From Academy? Go on, now you are telling tales. He’d never recommend that pretty boy for officer material, too soft,” said another of the cadets, one who hoped to become a stormtrooper.

The cadets exchanged uneasy glances at their comrade’s observations. “Come to think of it,” Makirna mused into the tension, “Segeris was always something of a dirty old geezer. And Namara is a pretty slip of a thing, isn’t he?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m only saying that there’s more than one way to look at this, gents. Back home on Irunia we have a nasty little underworld that would sell a boy like Namara for a pretty profit. Not for his charm with women, either.”

“That’s disgusting,” observed the trooper wannabe.

“But true, my friend. Happens all the time, unfortunately. If you ask me, Canomb is a little too high strung to go for long without some kind of satisfaction.” Wrinkling their noses, most of the cadets wandered off to think about a more pleasant topic, and secretly glad it wasn’t them, if it were true.

Kars held Makirna back from the others. “If that’s so, then Canomb is molesting Ristlin against his will,” he whispered intensely. “That’s sexual harassment, that’s court-martial offense.”

“Unfortunate, but if it is true, it’ll never go anywhere. I think your friend is right to keep it to himself. You’d best do the same.”

 

Kars spent the next day mustering the courage to ask Ristlin whether Makirna’s assessment had any bearing on the truth. He did his best to make sure the conditions were right for the conversation. No one must overhear them, or make the wrong conclusions from their talking. After lights out, when he was sure the others in the barracks were asleep, especially Opek, and quietly called out to his bunkmate.

“Hey, are you asleep?”

“No.”

“The guys were asking me why Canomb takes such an interest in you, y’know?”

“What did you say?” Even whispered, Kars could hear Ristlin’s guarded tone.

“I said I had no idea, but someone made a remark that bothered me. He suggested that Canomb is, well, that he’s interested in you.” Kars stressed the word into an innuendo, but couldn’t bring himself to put it in plain terms.

“And?” Ristlin asked after a pause.

“Well, I just, I want to know if it’s true, I guess.” He tried to sound right, not too casual nor too solicitous.

“What will you do if I tell you the answer?” Ristlin whispered back at him.

Kars chose his words carefully. “I think that if you’re being harassed by an officer, it should be reported. But, I understand how that could make things worse instead of better, so if you don’t want to, I’ll respect that. But if it is true, then you shouldn’t have to deal with it alone. And if it isn’t, then maybe there’s a way we can stop him from stepping on you so hard. I just want to help you, if I can.”

“How?” Ristlin asked plaintively. “What could you possibly do that would make the situation any better?”

“Well, listen, for starters. If you don’t trust me, or don’t want to say anything, fine. Whatever. But I can tell you, the guys have it on their minds. I could at least keep them from spreading the rumor.”

“So, you want to know, for purely altruistic motives, whether Commander Toger Canomb is using his rank and his power over me to force me to engage in sexual acts with him?”

Kars swallowed hard at Ristlin’s clinical description. “Yes, I want to know.”

Ristlin sighed deeply, shifting in the bunk and shaking it a little. “Yes.”

“Sweet suns!” Kars breathed. “Did—”

“No, I don’t enjoy it, if that’s your next question.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask.” Although he had wondered, despite himself. “Did Segeris tell him about you, because Segeris—because he was—”

“Aya. And I tried to report him, at Academy. But I was told that my accusation was unfounded and dangerous. And if I was prepared to persist in the allegation, Segeris would be given the chance to clear his name, and if he did so, as they were sure he would do, I would face court-martial for falsely accusing a superior officer, and if found guilty, go to a penal planet.”

“Blazing stars!”

Ristlin snorted once. “Aya. So there you have it. It’s entrenched and their own superior officers protect them from their victims. My best hope is to get through this, and hope that when we’re reassigned, I go someplace where Canomb doesn’t know anyone.”

“Ew, you mean you think he’ll ‘recommend’ you like Segeris did to him?”

“Why not? It’s sick to think it, but probably he’s abusive like this because he was someone’s victim at some time or other. He’s only giving whatever he got.”

“Ris, I’m so sorry, man.”

“Thanks. All ‘cause my old man wanted me to see the galaxy, eh?” He shifted around again, fluffing his pillow. “Don’t let it worry you. And don’t tell a soul, will you, Canomb has already warned me that if I’m ‘indiscreet,’ as he calls it, he’ll make sure I never get out from his thumb.”

“No worries there.” Kars wrestled with the other question that nagged him, one that might be safe to ask now. “Ris?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been interested in another man?”

“Have you?” Ristlin said guardedly.

“Yes.” Kars said. 

“Well, then.” He shrugged. “But Canomb, that’s not the same thing, Kars. Nonconsensual sex is nonconsensual sex. Go on to sleep before Opek wakes up.”

 

“Ris, why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Kars coaxed his friend back to the present as Ristlin calmed down again. “Thrawn’s done for the night, he’ll be all right. C’mon, take the guest bed, I’ll bunk here for the night.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep, but you’re right.” He stood, sighing. “I can’t do anything more until he’s awake again, anyway.”

 

In the morning, Kars convinced Ristlin to go in to work as usual, with the provision that he could change the household arrangements while out that day. Kars stayed to keep an eye on Thrawn until Ristlin returned. He placed a call on the vidicom to his firm, instructing them to open a connection to his workstation so he could work from “home.”

It was a rare day for Coruscant. The sun, usually large and hazy, had peeked through the layers of cloud and air pollution and was beaming onto the incessant line of traffic on the air transways and slidewalks, leaving dappled shadows where plant life obscured its rays. On a planet where the only trees had been planted by its inhabitants, where the towers of their dwellings and the dust of constant rebuilding filled the sky, today’s weather could almost be said to be picturesque. Ristlin felt his chest ease and his shoulders lose their tension as if the sun’s warmth actually drew his troubles out of him. Suddenly, he felt that hiding in his lab would be a crime on a day like this. He decided to play hooky and call in. Kathe would probably figure out that it had to do with Thrawn, but he needed to extend this feeling of being carefree for as long as possible. Besides, he had to rearrange all the household supplies eventually, so a full day would have been impossible. He transferred from his usual transport to one that would take him to the Botanical Gardens. 

The Gardens were one of Imperial City’s main tourist attractions, and on a sunny day, they were crammed with school groups, off-planet visitors, and even dignitaries from all over the galaxy. Fortunately, as it was one of his favorite spots, Ristlin knew several of the people who worked here. One had even given him a pass to use so he could get in without wasting half the day in line. He took a deep breath as he entered the hothouses, drinking in the fresh soil and the lush greenery around him. It wasn’t Alderaan, but it was as close as he got these days. He wandered through the paths laid between the different gardens, pausing as he found this or that bloom, pretending his life wasn’t waiting for him outside. 

It was only when he came around the corner from the hybrid beds that he noticed the couple.

They were the young man and woman who had been at the cafe before, he was sure. They were dressed differently, of course, but the young man held his sandy coat over his arm as they walked through the gardens. It could have been a coincidence. Ristlin ducked into a different hothouse, casually, and walked to the far corner of the garden. He knelt as if to inspect a Frangellian Icebud. As he peered into the specimen’s glassy petals, he saw the couple come through the door, pointing at various knotwood trees and peering through the branches. For him. His impulse was to confront them, but he didn’t like the odds. He fished in his pocket for his pass, and gingerly stepped over the plant life and onto the blocks the gardeners used to move through the soil. He crossed the bed and on the far side, pressed his pass into the lock, hoping it would open. It accessed for what seemed like eternity, then the door slid aside with an electronic hiss. He plunged through and locked it from the inside, then looked at his surroundings. 

The potting shed led into a corridor, which ended at a lift. He applied the pass again to open the lift, which it did, finally. It had an archaic push-button system and he quickly discovered the only available direction was down. He pressed buttons until one lit and the lift lurched into motion. It indicated level B and the doors opened. No security met him, so he hoped his pass was still allowing him access without violating any policy. Just then he remembered where he got the pass, and laughed. Jardin had given it to him, and Jardin was one of the botanists here. 

Sure enough, the level he entered now was a maze of research labs, reminding him of his own labyrinth back at the medical center. He wandered through the halls, searching for a possible exit. As he followed the path, he tried to retrace the layout of the hothouses on the level above, working his way back to the beginning. He stopped at an intersection of corridors. If he stayed on this one, he would go back to what he thought was the lobby. But if the couple thought they lost him, wouldn’t they go there to wait for him to come out? He turned right, a new plan forming in his mind.

Jardin gave him the pass. Jardin worked here at the gardens. Somewhere, Jardin was in his lab, analyzing, or breeding, or whatever it was botanists did all day. He wished he could find a directory. He walked along the corridor, peering into the plexiform windows in the doors, looking for his friend. He reached the end of the corridor, turned around, went back to the intersection, checked the other side. At the end of that side was another lift. He slid his pass into the call pad, waited for the doors to open. This time, he pressed the lowest button on the keypad, catching himself as the lift dropped under his feet. 

The doors opened on a cafeteria, open and quiet with only a few people there on break. Ristlin stepped out and looked at the wall beside the lift. His suspicion was correct; a compad and directory were inset in the wall. He keyed into the compad and pulled up the map of the facility, and within moments had Jardin’s office located. With only a passing glance at the other scientists, Ristlin summoned the lift again and pressed the button for Jardin’s floor.

Jardin looked up in surprise as his office door slid open and Ristlin entered. “Hi. Hey, look when I said come over anytime, I kind of thought you’d call f—Ris? What’s wrong?” His jocund demeanor disappeared and he rose to move a chair closer to his friend. 

“It’s a really long story. Look, is there an exit from here that’ll get me back toward sector 4, without going out the front?”

“Yeah, a lot of folks live out of sector 6; there’s a slidewalk that leads straight out that way. What has you so spooked?” He led Ristlin out of the office and down the hallway.

“Short version is, I’m being followed. There’s been a lot of strange things happening lately, and I just don’t want to take any chances.”

“Strange? Such as?” Jardin directed him to the right.

“I can’t really tell you. Just take it from me, it’s bad.”

“Everything all right between you and Thrawn?” the young man asked with concern, pressing an access plate with his palm.

“Not exactly. I think someone’s trying to sabotage his career. I think that’s why I’m being followed, to get to him through me.”

The secured door opened. Jardin waved Ristlin to go through the door first. “You know, Ristlin, anyone else would think you were getting paranoid. The problem is, you’re too smart for your own good.” He grabbed Ristlin’s arm and swiftly applied a hypoinjection. Ristlin had just enough time to hear “I’m sorry” before everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

“He hasn’t been there all day? No, that’s all right. Yes, I’ll let you know. No, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll remember that. Yes. Yes. Thrawn out.”

Sighing, Thrawn deactivated his private audcom. “Kathe says he called in today, said he wasn’t coming to work at all. I expect he decided to get the errands done early, but then he should have been home by now,” he explained to Kars. The two had spent a somewhat uncomfortable yet productive day, running through possible suspects and eliminating most of them. As before, Thrawn awoke with disorientation and little or no recollection of his actions the previous night. As Kars told him, second-hand, of his argument with Ristlin, he became more determined than ever to find the culprits behind his mysterious mood swings. He just made it to his lecture, putting in the required appearance so that his enemies would not know anything was amiss. When he returned, he spoke to his second-in-command, Briese, and took care of the housekeeping issues on the ship. Then he downloaded his personal logs from the _Vengeance_ on a secure channel and studied them for any enemies who might have the connections necessary to facilitate so involved a scheme. Kars linked into the chemical labs and reviewed Ristlin’s analyses. They were at work for hours before either thought about Ristlin being missing.

“He was upset, Thrawn. He may want to be alone for a while.”

“I realize that. In fact, I’m sure it’s true. Permit me to worry anyway. It’s entirely possible this plot has more than one level to it, and if it does, he might be in danger from sources other than myself.” His humor wore thin as he admitted himself a danger to his companion.

“We’ll give him another hour. He’d normally be home from work around 1800 hours, right? So, give him until then as if he’d spent a normal day. Then we’ll worry.”

At 18:01, Thrawn called Kathe on his secure line, just catching her on her way out. His concern for Ristlin overrode her initial impulse to disconnect him. She grudgingly told him what she knew, adding a warning of her own should anything happen to Ristlin. 

“Well, either he’s laid down with fresh groceries and has to find transport, or he’s still too pissed to come home.” Kars stood and stretched. “I need food, and so do you, whether you admit it or not, and you certainly can’t eat anything here. Let’s go get something and look around a bit.” Kars suggested, adding that a public eatery was probably the safest place for Thrawn to eat, given the logistics of poisoning in a public forum.

Thrawn set the droid on guard duty, giving it instructions to notify him should Ristlin return, and the two set out.

“Where does Ris go when he wants to be alone?” Kars asked.

Thrawn shrugged. “Museums, the gardens—Blazing suns!” He stopped cold. “Come on,” he turned sharply onto another slidewalk heading east.

“What?” Kars asked, pushing through the cross traffic to keep up.

“Ristlin has a friend at the Botanical Gardens, gave him a pass to go there. Hasama, cree, and hinjin are all spices which derive from exotic plants, which—”

“—Would be accessible to a botanist at the Gardens. And a botanist can make them a lot purer than market spice. But, if Ristlin doesn’t know, he isn’t a threat.”

“Whether he knows or not, he might suspect, and he’s of great use as a hostage. They can find out from him how quickly I’m deteriorating, as well as hold him for assurance against my taking action.” Swearing, he plunged through the lines of pedestrians.

 

The thing that woke him up was the light. It cut into him without caring that his lids were still closed. The next sensation to return to him was pain. The back of his head and neck twinged with it, and his arm ached as if he had slept on top of it, though he could tell he was on his back. Moving didn’t seem a prudent option. He thought maybe if he just stayed there a while, he might remember what happened...

“His vitals are changing, sir. He’s awake.”

Despite his desire to continue playing possum, Ristlin sighed. They had him hooked up, somehow. That was why his arm hurt. He was in restraints as well.

“Please state your name, for the record.” a deeper voice asked politely.

“Ragh--” He swallowed the cotton from his mouth. “Ristlin Namara.”

“Lieutenant Namara, you have been brought here to answer a few questions. For your own safety, I suggest that you answer them truthfully and that you make no attempt to move from your bed.”

“Where am I?” he croaked. He opened his eyes, now a little more adjusted to the light, but could not see beyond its blinding halo. The man remained a disembodied voice.

“You are not in a position to ask questions, Lieutenant, only to answer them.”

“Not a lieutenant. Not anymore.” 

“That is of no consequence. Now, shall we proceed? Good. Please state your current occupation.”

“Medical research technician.”

“Place of employment?”

“What is this about? What happened?”

“Immaterial questions, Lieutenant. They will not be addressed until you have given us answers to our satisfaction. Place of employment?”

“Medical Institute for Health Science and Technology, Imperial City, Coruscant.”

“Planet of origin?”

“Alderaan.”

“How long have you worked at MIHST?”

“About five standard years.”

“Your appointment there entitles you to live in Sector 8, Academic Housing, is that correct?”

“Yes.” He tried looking around the room a little, but it hurt to move his head.

“But you don’t live in Academic Housing. Why?”

“Have you seen what’s allocated for Academic Housing? My quarters are legally sublet to a student at the Artistic Institute.”

“And your address is 35863-Alpha, Building 28, Sector 4, Military District. The same address maintained by Captain Thrawn, of the _Vengeance_.”

“Yes. The Captain and I are friends and we came to an agreement several years ago. I maintain his quarters during his extended absences from Imperial City.” The story, rehearsed so carefully, slid out without Ristlin’s having to think about it. Lucky, he thought, since the monitors would no doubt pick up any extra activity as nerves due to lying.

“What is the precise nature of your relationship with Captain Thrawn?”

“I told you, we are friends, and due to the nature of our agreement, housemates.”

“Are you sure that’s all? Isn’t it true that you live there virtually expense-free?”

“No, it’s not true. In fact, I pay most of the bills. Who are you?” Ristlin tried to sit up and immediately his head rocked with pain.

“I told you it would be unwise to move. You received a blow to the head in transport. Would you like something for the pain?”

“Do I have your guarantee it won’t be supplemented with any mind-altering or suggestive drugs?”

“Yes,” said the voice without hesitation.

“Then no,” Ristlin replied. He now had some answers, even though he hadn’t asked the questions. Whatever was going on was related to the plot on Thrawn’s life, and his interrogator was not afraid to lie to him. The chances of getting out of wherever he was were likely to be slim. 

“What is the precise nature of your relationship with Captain Thrawn?”

“Asked and answered.”

“Not to our satisfaction. What is the precise nature of your relationship with Captain Thrawn?”

“Friends.”

“Companions?”

“Former shipmates, if that’s what you mean.”

“Isn’t it true that you share the Captain’s bedroom?”

Ristlin’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean. I generally use the master bedroom when he’s not there, there’s no reason not to. But I have a bedroom of my own.”

“Which you never use.”

“No, I do use it. Of course I do.” He concentrated on deflecting the questions while giving truthful answers, keeping his pulse steady and his breath even. “What are you trying to say?”

“Under what circumstances did you and Captain Thrawn meet?”

“We were both serving on the _Starspear_ ; we became acquainted.”

“How? You were a junior officer, he was a Commander.”

“Even a large ship is small when it comes to knowing people on board. We had some common interests in art and architecture, even in some of the sciences. When you meet someone who shares an intellectual interest, you cultivate the friendship.” During his narrative, he stole a sideways glance to the left, the side hooked up to the monitor. He couldn’t see anything.

A data disc floated in Ristlin’s sight. It looked holographic, but he couldn’t be sure. There might have been a dark form on his right. “Do you know what this disc contains?”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“It’s your military record.”

Ristlin jumped. He couldn’t help it. Above his head the monitor beeped in reaction. “That’s sealed information.”

“Then perhaps you will begin to understand the situation you are in. Would you care to modify any of your statements thus far?”

“No.” Distantly, as if in another room, he could hear the rapid beeping of his heart rate on the monitor.

“Then what is the precise nature of your relationship with Captain Thrawn?”

“Friends.”

“And under what circumstances did you and Captain Thrawn meet?

“Aboard the _Starspear_. I believe there is an account of the exact circumstances in my record, which is also why it was sealed. I’d rather not recount them here.”

“Then you admit to the charges of prostitution?”

Speech failed Ristlin for a moment but the monitor’s noise filled the gap. “What?” he finally managed to say. “I think you’d better reread that record you stole. My discharge was honorable.” He forced himself to stop there, although he wanted to say more. Either the record had been falsified, or his questioner had a reason for wanting to draw him out with false information. Either way, it wasn’t good.

“If you expect me to believe that, you’re going to have to explain more fully.”

“Believe what you want, I’m not saying anything more until you tell me where I am, who you are, and what in the black hole of Keria you want with me.”

“Very well, we will proceed to the next level. Allow us a few minutes to prepare you.” He heard sounds of people moving behind the light, then it winked out and left Ristlin in total darkness. He felt a prickling behind his neck, but couldn’t touch it because of the wrist restraints. Then the pain came, and he started screaming.

 

As the streets of Imperial City grew darker, their inhabitants took on a different character. There were more than a fair share of Stormtroopers, Imperial officers, and other officials on the slidewalks and in speeders, but the private citizens of the city, now done with their work for the day, came out dressed for their evenings of leisure. The Botanical Gardens were lit for evening viewing, as were dozens of tourist attractions around the city. Ordinarily, Thrawn would have used his military ID to get through the long queue to enter the gardens. Not wanting to draw attention, however, they had to wait their turn, neither of them having the benefit of a membership to the garden society. The queue inched forward as tourists and citizens paid their entrance fee and stepped into one of the most concentrated greeneries left on Coruscant. More than 90% of the planet’s surface had been taken up by its sprawling cities, high-rises interlaced by slidewalks, speedways, and skybridges. As a result, nearly every building had some plant life, though much was actually artificial, relying on the air circulation systems to replenish the supply of breathable gas. The Botanical Gardens was a huge campus of interconnected greenhouses, each one displaying the ecosystem of a different planet, representing dozens of planetary systems. Once inside, Thrawn went directly to the hothouse which held most of the Alderaanian species, hoping to find Ristlin there. Kars trailed behind a bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of his friend in the passing crowd.

“What’s the name of his friend who works here?” he asked Thrawn when he caught up to him. 

“Jardin. I don’t know if it’s a given name or a surname.”

Kars nodded. “You keep looking around, I’m going to see if I can find a way to get to Jardin.” He headed back to the entrance, where the gift shop was located. 

As expected, Kars found a lovely and obliging young woman assisting tourists with their souvenirs of the Gardens. “Hi,” he said, smiling his most disarming smile. “I’m wondering if you can help me. See, I know someone who works here, and I didn’t realize how big a place this is...”

“Oh, the Botanical Gardens has over 35 distinct greenhouses, sir,” the attendant supplied. “Each one is maintained by gardeners and botanists who specialize in the plant life of the representative planets. We have over 2000 employees.”

“Yes, I see that. It’s quite a place,” he agreed. “My friend here is a botanist. Is there a way I could access the directory, so I can call his office?”

“Well, the directory is only for use of employees. You couldn’t access it yourself.”

“Oh. I suppose you’d need to use your ID pass to get into it, then?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiled coquettishly. “We can’t have anyone changing plant food orders, now can we?”

“No, we wouldn’t want that to happen. I don’t suppose you could just look up my friend’s office for me, could you?”

“Do you think he’d be in? I mean, it’s rather late for the scientists to be here.”

“Oh, these lab rats, they keep all hours. Besides, even if he’s not here now, I am, and I’d hate to think I came all the way through this fascinating and very large city of yours only to be turned away. I’d be ever so grateful,” he added, eyes smoldering and mouth cocked at an angle both sincere and suggestive.

“Well....” She looked around the shop at the volume of customers. Luckily for Kars, it was a thin moment. “All right, but don’t tell my supervisor, will you?” She giggled a little at her own audacity.

“Not a word,” Kars whispered confidentially, placing one hand to his breast for good measure.

The girl pressed her badge to the console and pulled up the building directory. “What’s his name?”

“Jardin.”

“First or last?”

“Well, I don’t know, exactly. See, we’ve never actually met, only over network chats. Can you search by partial name?”

“Oh, yes,” she told him proudly. Within moments, the computer had a match. She printed the office number and extension and handed it to him. “Now, you mentioned a little gratitude?” She grinned at him.

“Sure. How about dinner tonight?”

“Oh. Well, the gardens don’t close until 22:00. Maybe another night?”

Kars looked disappointed. “I’m only in town for a couple of days. I’ll leave you the number where I’m staying, though.” Borrowing another card, he wrote down the com number for the Manorborn Galactic Hotel, carefully omitting his name. “Just call me there and leave a message. Thanks again for all your help,” he said enticingly, leaning in to kiss her. Then he quickly left the shop, blending back into the crowd heading toward the compounds.

 

It might have lasted for a minute, or an hour, or a day. The pain ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and its absence was almost as disturbing as its presence. The back of his head throbbed from the aftershock. He pressed against the pillow and felt a small device press back against the top of his spine. It was a probe, positioned right over his medulla. Somewhere, a technician was controlling it, punching instructions for duration and intensity, reaching in to Ristlin’s most primitive nerve center. 

As he lay there, remembering how to breathe, a door slid open. For an instant, the room was flooded with light from outside. Dark figures stepped in and the door slid shut again. They switched on night goggles, gave him a sip of water and changed his soiled sheets. He was naked on the bed. Someone used a hypolozenge on his throat, soothing vocal cords he had screamed raw. He looked down along his arms and saw that an IV had been added to his vitals monitor, and one of the forms changed the bag. Their tasks done, they gathered at the door, switched off their goggles, and disappeared in a flash of white light as the door opened. 

Almost as soon as the door closed, the fluorescent light snapped on in front of his face.

“Now perhaps, you will be more reasonable. You will no doubt have ascertained that we can instantaneously make you immensely uncomfortable. Let me reassure you, though, that the device attached to your medulla oblongata has no lasting effects whatsoever. It will leave no mark, not even a very visible scar, and once it is removed, the pain will gradually fade into nothing, leaving absolutely no physical damage. So, while you won’t die from the sensations we produce, they will feel very real to you. And since you won’t die, we can continue this process as long as necessary. Do you understand?”

Ristlin nodded, unable to bear speaking. 

“You must answer me aloud, I’m afraid, the instruments don’t register unless you speak.”

“Yes,” Ristlin rasped.

“Good. Now, for every question you fail to answer correctly, you will receive pain. The first incorrect answer will get you 10 seconds of pain, the second 20, the next, 40, and so on. In case you were wondering, you received 60 seconds of pain just a few minutes ago. I do suggest you cooperate, for your own comfort. Shall we begin? Your name.”

 

Congratulating himself for his resourcefulness, Kars rejoined Thrawn, still prowling the hothouses for any sign of Ristlin. “I take it you were successful,” Thrawn observed dryly. 

“Can I help it if I’m irresistible?” Kars shrugged in response. “Office location and an extension number right here,” he reported to the other man, handing him the readout.

“Very good, Newarn. Any idea how we’re going to get out of the public areas and into the secured ones, not to mention find this office and get in before security can find us, since presumably Mr. Jardin will not be in the office at this hour?”

“I thought I’d leave that up to you,” Kars told him.

Growling, but amused nonetheless, Thrawn studied the readout. “Where did you get this, anyway?”

“A very obliging and not too bright young lady in the gift shop agreed to help me find my friend, since I don’t know my way around the City.”

“Hm. Come along,” Thrawn ordered, heading back toward the entrance.

“What?”

“Obviously you didn’t take time to look at this yourself. She printed out his Directory entry, complete with home address.” Thrawn passed the slip of paper back to Kars.

“This is in the Ardoni sector. That’s clear across town, and not a place I’d prefer to be out in at night.”

“I’m not entirely comfortable with the idea of _Ristlin_ possibly being in the Ardoni sector at night, Kars, with or without a native guide.” The words were said with his customary casualness, but Kars could hear the tension underneath the surface. He didn’t mention that the “native guide” might well be the person behind all their trouble.

“Good point. Well, after all, you are an officer of the Imperial Fleet, right?”

“That is not necessarily a reassuring epitaph for where we’re going.” With that, Thrawn waved a blue-skinned hand at a passing speedercab and jogged to where it pulled over to wait, Kars trailing behind him.

 

“It’s a funny thing about pain,” the interrogator told Ristlin philosophically. “Just when you think you’ve adjusted to it, can bear it, are used to it, even, it can get worse.”

It did. Ristlin had given up screaming. His throat hurt and it only gave them satisfaction, anyway. The interrogator continued, not even leaving him to writhe in peace.

“But unlike real, physical pain, Lieutenant, you have the power to make it stop. You hold the key to your pain, and you can either cause yourself more or end it all immediately. No residual side effects, no healing process that will take days in a Bacta tank, just instantaneous relief. Just tell me the truth about your relationship with Captain Thrawn, and all this will end. Admit that you and the Captain are more than mere friends, and you could be home before the day is out. Just say it, and you can feel this—” and the pain stopped— “forever.”

The probe remained deactivated long enough for Ristlin to catch his breath. “You keep saying it does no damage, but you keep turning it off every few minutes. Is that so it won’t overheat and discharge?”

“This is not the topic we are discussing.”

“You want me to tell you what you want to know? Then answer my question. Question for question.”

“I am not aware of any need to deactivate the probe. My mercy, and my desire to reach a successful conclusion to this interview, are what prompted me to release you momentarily. However, since you evidently have no mutual consideration—”

“Wait, wait, I didn’t say that. I said if I answered a question, I want you to answer a question.” Ristlin struggled to keep his mind clear for negotiation. Every second not under the influence of the probe, he gained strength. 

“I am not at liberty to bargain, and you are in no position to.”

“I’m in every position to bargain. For whatever reason, you want me to tell you that Thrawn and I are lovers. You need me to say it or you wouldn’t be putting me through this and keeping me alive for it. I’m willing to negotiate, but I want some answers in return for my statements. You go ask whoever it is you need for permission to deal.”

“We don’t need to deal, Lieutenant. You’ve just given us quite enough.” The light, so constant that Ristlin had forgotten it, blacked out suddenly. A figure moved close, he felt a prick behind his right ear, and then nothing.

 

Freelance speedcabs didn’t go as far into the Ardoni sector as the address indicated. The pilot expressed grave doubts about programming such a flight plan with central control. After considering his options, Thrawn pulled his sidearm and held it on the driver, who found this a considerably persuasive tactic. 

The building was a large warehouse. It might have been converted into tenements, but few lights were on and it was difficult to tell internal structure from the street. Thrawn had the driver circle the building and its surrounding ones for a better view, and to avoid being noticed by stopping. 

As they neared the thoroughfare again, he told Kars, “I don’t like it. I don’t want to go in without more backup.”

“Are we even sure Ristlin is in there?”

“No, but either way. If he is, and they are holding him, he’s in no immediate danger. If he isn’t, they don’t yet know we know about this place, but they will tomorrow when Jardin discovers he’s been accessed by the Garden computer. If he’s dead....” Thrawn sighed heavily. “No. If they wanted to kill him they’d have done it immediately, when they apprehended him, and disposed of the body by now. He’s alive. If not here, Jardin will know how to find him.” He instructed to driver to take them to the central transport station for the Fleet. Happy to be leaving the Ardoni district, and ecstatic to be returning to an area of Imperial control, the driver sped out of sight of the darkened warehouse. 

From the transport center, Thrawn made a few calls. He gave the address twice that Kars could hear, mentioning the Botanical Gardens and Jardin’s name. He then secured a military transport to take them back to his quarters.

“What now, then?” Kars asked him from the back of the transport.

Thrawn’s red eyes held no expression, but a slight gesture of his head and arm indicated that they were not free to talk. “We’ll go back to the quarters and check in. I want to find out more about the problem, and talk to a few more people before we get any further.”

Kars nodded. They rode in silence the rest of the way. 

 

Ristlin hoped he was dreaming. He stood once more in Mershak’s chamber. Steel circlets bound his wrists, sending pinpricks of electric shock through him when he tried to move his hands. His bare feet were on the floor, but the bands hung from the ceiling, like a set of gymnastic rings, and they stretched his arms apart, putting pressure on his chest. He was naked. It was dark.

He could hear the Captain’s voice, as through a fog, in the outer room. Meeting with someone. Angry. Ristlin strained to hear, to remember what was happening. This had to be a dream, he knew, a recurrence of his nightmares from when this indignity had been a regular occurrence, and from the long months of recovery after Thrawn rescued him. Thrawn. If this were a dream, he could choose to relive that night when Thrawn stumbled on the Captain’s irregular predilections, namely, Ristlin. But Thrawn did not arrive as he had that night. ‘You can’t do it,’ he thought to himself. ‘You can’t make it happen, because Thrawn is gone now. You can’t expect him to save you twice. He has his own problems.’

The conversation outside grew louder, more clear. Mershak’s voice was unmistakable, the very memory of it sending shivers through Ristlin. He trembled, and the electroshocks tingled in his hands and up his forearms. Struggling to control his reactions, Ristlin silenced his breathing and listened carefully.

“Just exactly when can I expect delivery?” Mershak said. The other man spoke. “Unacceptable, Senator. My price for assisting you in this scheme was made clear. You say he has served his function? Then he is mine.’

“His purpose has been served, Captain, but we cannot risk losing him until the whole plan is complete. You have waited, as you said, for almost five years for this. Surely, you can restrain yourself a bit longer.” This second voice, near the doorway now, was smooth and practiced, and Ristlin felt it brush him almost like velvet. He shivered again. He couldn’t be back on the _Starspear_ , he was.... where?

“I don’t want to risk any damage in the final stage.” Mershak was saying. “Even if everything goes according to your plans, it’s going to be difficult to get him out of here, with all those reporters.”

“Rest assured, Captain, we have thought of everything. If we are successful, it will take a matter of minutes for all those reporters to rush back to their vidports and log their stories. After all, that is the point of tipping them off to come here. Now, I’d advise you to relax a while, and take your mind off your little friend in there. And if you can’t, then think how much sweeter he’ll be when he’s your slave.”

Ristlin felt the familiar panic welling up inside him, and the room around him changed abruptly. He was no longer standing, but lying, still naked, on a bed, his wrists in restraints. He opened his eyes very slowly, as if to make very sure he was awake. The blackness was not total; a heart monitor and several other machines beeped regularly in the corner. He remembered now. The machines were hooked up to him through the IV in his arm, a needleprick that he felt when he tried to move. In the glow of the instruments, he could dimly see the outline of the room, the panel marking the door controls. He tested the restraints idly; they were rough against his wrists, and solid. 

He lay in the dark, remembering snatches of his dream. Mershak, talking to a Senator. That wasn’t right. Certainly, nothing like that had ever happened on the _Starspear_. The closest was the night that Thrawn had accidentally found him, strung up in the inner chamber, awaiting Mershak’s return. Perhaps his mortal danger now had triggered the nightmare again. Or just maybe.... ‘Oh, sweet Gods, no...’ he thought. 

The door opened then and someone walked in. “So much trouble over you, you’d think he was in love.” It was the Senator. “You’d better be worth it, that’s all I can say. Oh, don’t worry,” he continued, “If everything goes well, you won’t ever see the Captain again. Either of them. I’m going to bring your sick little world crashing down around all of you, and the whole Empire will feel the aftershock.” He chuckled at his own wit. “For years, I’ve searched for the evidence I need to expose the Imperial Fleet at the highest levels. You gave me the key. Between you and me, the Emperor is a hypocrite and a fool, allowing your type of immoral behavior to exist within the ranks. And don’t get me started on his exception to the non-human rule, when it comes to your precious Thrawn. You will pay for your sins, make no mistake.” He left Ristlin alone to wonder what it all meant.

 

Thrawn’s building was under guard. Both he and Kars were asked for identification before being allowed to his floor—with an escort. Outside his door stood another guard, and Kars was told to wait there while the Captain was wanted inside. To Thrawn, it only meant one thing. He ran a hand over his hair to straighten it and smoothed his tunic before entering his quarters, where, as he fully expected, a red-robed Imperial guard stood watch in the atrium.


	5. Chapter 5

Ristlin thought about the Senator’s comments. He meant to use him to hurt Thrawn, somehow. Suddenly, his recent memory came flooding back. Of course! The source behind the poison. And Jardin, who had access to the substances through the Botanical Garden, was both the poisoner and the reason Ristlin was now in their hands. And he had walked right into the trap. As to why, that was becoming clear. This Senator, whoever he was, seemed to feel that the Emperor could be discredited by revealing that he allowed Thrawn to attain high rank within the Imperial Fleet. But, why Mershak? And how was he going to manage to broadcast what he knew without being discovered by the Stormtroopers? Most importantly, how was he going to survive?

His wrist restraints weren’t too tight, but not loose enough to wriggle out of, either. There were no restraints on his legs. But even if he could break loose of the bed without being discovered, the monitors would certainly register the loss of his vital signs. And there was the small matter of finding clothes quickly so he could escape without drawing attention to himself. 

Before he could further ponder any of those issues, his captors entered the room again. With nightmarish efficiency, they released him from the restraints, threw a hospital gown over him, and hustled him out through the narrow corridors. All around him he heard the distinctive sounds of retreat: the hasty packing of supplies and evidence, shouting, and distantly, blaster fire. He knew better than to ask his escort where they were going, only that his value as a hostage might very soon dissipate, and he had no doubt what their orders were in that case. He pretended to stumble and doubled over himself. When one of the guards offered rough assistance, Ristlin jabbed upward into the man’s groin, as if he were hitting a volleyball, and seized the man’s blaster rifle. Before the others could react, he fired wildly into them, hitting some and sending scattered bolts down the corridor ahead of him. Then he charged.

It was precisely what they didn’t expect and so he was past them in seconds, heading for the nearest exit. A turbolift stood in the middle of the next short corridor; next to it there was an emergency access stairwell. He recognized the layout as an old style tenement. He jammed the call for the lift and it opened immediately. Before getting in, though, Ristlin opened the door to the ancient stairwell as wide as it would go and let it slowly close as he boarded the lift and pushed “Main.”

As the lift zoomed toward the ground, he took stock. He had a blaster rifle with almost a full charge, a loose fitting hospital gown, and nothing else. He needed escape, clothes, and shoes, in any order. As the lift slowed to stopping, he pressed his thumb over the “door close” button. The lift stopped, but the doors didn’t open. He pressed his ear to the door to listen for activity. Hearing none, he pressed up against the side of the car and released the button. The doors slid open.

Rifle primed, he glanced out quickly. The corridor looked empty, except for the bodies. Too frightened to be sick, Ristlin stepped outside and checked the corridor in both directions. Clearly, the battle had been here and gone on. He thought about disrobing one of the corpses, but decided against it. No cover, no place to change out of the open, and he wasn’t out of the building yet. He picked a direction at random and followed the hallway.

His luck held. A few yards further up, he could see sunlight streaming onto the floor, a large enough patch to indicate an entrance to the building. If Imperial troops are in charge of this, he thought, then there will be a squad covering the doors outside. He looked around for something to use as a white flag, but at that moment, the doors made a hissing sound. He shrank back around the corner, watching as a lieutenant in Navy uniform stepped through the door, accompanied by a single trooper on each side. Ristlin kept the rifle, bearing in mind that Mershak still had a paltry command and this officer might not be friendly. The officer took out a mouthpiece and spoke into it.

“I am Lieutenant Allon Corvo of the Imperial Fleet. You will surrender your weapons to my men and desist all terrorist activity, or you will be shot. All hostages will be released immediately.” Behind him, a squadron of troopers funneled in and began to systematically search the lobby and main corridors for resistance. Ristlin powered down the rifle and called out to Lt. Corvo.

“Hold your fire! I am a prisoner attempting escape. Will you help me?”

In answer, two troopers came around the corner with rifles cocked. When they saw Ristlin in his hospital gown, they put up their weapons and assisted him to the door. 

“Are you Lieutenant Namara?” Lt. Corvo asked him, as if consulting a roster of victims he expected to find.

“Retired, yes. Have you got a robe or something?” The lieutenant seemed surprised by this request. “Well, I mean, I could go home like this, but it’s still a little chilly out there, I think, and I’d like to avoid further embarrassment.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Corvo recovered, and sent a trooper to secure a covering for their charge. “My orders are to escort you back to your quarters, if you did not need medical assistance first.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t really know if I…” Began Ristlin, but at that moment, the fact that he was safe sunk in, as well as the shock from his ordeal. Weakened by torture, he fainted, and the dreams that haunted him closed in again….

 

He lay in the _Starspear_ ’s sick bay, cursing Mershak for injuring him just enough to be in pain, but not so much as to call for Bacta regeneration. He had to turn over at least three times a day, an agonizing operation involving a droid aide and at least a dose of pain killer. His legs were torn and bloody, so he had a pillow between them to keep them from chafing. His face was bruised and swollen, his wrists sore and red, and worst of all were the dreams.

At least he didn’t have to see anyone. Well, the doctor came to check on him once a day, and approved of his healing, as if it were on some schedule. The aides were there from time to time. And then there was that Commander….

“Ristlin?” The human tech knelt down so Ristlin wouldn’t have to look up. “Commander Thrawn is here, asking to see you.”

“I don’t want to see anyone,” he muttered numbly.

“He just wants to see if you’re all right.”

“You can tell him my progress.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I don’t want to see anyone, least of all him.”

“All right,” conceded the tech. “I’ll tell him to check back tomorrow.”

Ristlin sank back into his fog, grateful that the tech had gone. For the first time, he truly appreciated the droids which the Navy used constantly for menial tasks. It limited his contact with those live beings who had to see him at his most vulnerable.

For days he drifted in the hospital routine, refusing to see anyone save the sick bay staff. Each day, Thrawn made time to come and ask if he could visit. After a week, the tech agreed.

“He’s asleep, but I’ll let you look in on him. He probably still doesn’t want to talk.”

“I understand.” Thrawn pulled up a chair and a data pad and made no attempt to disturb him. He left before Ristlin woke up.

The next day when he arrived, Ristlin was awake and once again refused to see him. “Tell him I have to talk to him about some decisions he needs to make. They have waited long enough. I’ll make it an order if I have to, but I’d prefer to speak to him with his permission.”

The aide relayed this to Ristlin, who nodded his assent, eyes closed. Thrawn approached him slowly and steadily, taking the same chair and making no sudden moves. “I know this is awkward, Lieutenant, but I wanted to talk to you about your options.” He paused for response, got none, and went on. “Currently, Captain Mershak is confined to his quarters, pending a review board. There are different ways we can proceed. At the very least, he will face the review and may be fined or demerited. I need to know if you wish to press charges and proceed with a court martial. If you do, you’ll have to testify, and I can’t promise a private conclusion to the matter. However, that would enable us to strip Mershak’s commission and command.” He stopped then, waiting for Ristlin’s instruction.

“What if he’s not found guilty?” came the muffled response.

“Given your testimony and mine, I think that’s unlikely.”

“Aya, as unlikely as snow on Hoth.”

“If you don’t wish to testify, it is possible to file the report and he may still be court-martialed on its basis. You can apply for honorable discharge, or reassignment, whichever you prefer. I would be willing to intercede on your behalf if you want your discharge to take effect before the end of your regular tour.” He paused again. “I’ll leave you to think about what you want. I’ll come back tomorrow and see how you’re doing.” He stood slowly and withdrew.

 

When Thrawn returned, he found Ristlin slightly more responsive, at least enough to discuss what each course of action would involve and how best to accomplish it. In the end, Ristlin chose to file the report, ask for honorable discharge at the end of his tour in four months, and let the Navy decide what to do with Mershak. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Thrawn asked.

Ristlin sighed. “If they actually court-martial Mershak, I’ll drink Bacta fluid. It’ll never happen, and it would just be a circus. Besides, I have people at home who’d be dragged into the whole mess if I testified. The affidavit will do enough damage as it is.”

“You doubt the Navy’s ability to judge a case like this impartially. Why?”

“Why are you going out of your way to help me?” Ristlin asked instead of answering.

“Because you are a member of the crew. Are we not supposed to help one another?”

“You never knew I existed before that night. What do you want? Gratitude? Repayment?”

“Justice.” Ristlin snorted with disgust in response. “You don’t believe in justice?” Thrawn asked.

“You’ve no idea, have you? Of course not; like the others you’ve never been exposed to their games. This is the sixth time something like this has happened to me. The first time, I was still in the Academy. Since then, I’ve been dodging from one assignment to another, getting transferred, and having someone in the network tip off someone else so the whole process starts again. The funny thing about persecution is, the ones doing it are also the ones who have power and connections. So you tell me, how can I trust their system to find fault with them?”

Thrawn was silent for a while. “I see,” he said finally. “Well, I’ve upset you, I should go. I’ll come back tomorrow for the statement, if that’s all right?”

 

So it went. Each day Thrawn would visit briefly, and apprise Ristlin of the proceedings, and talk. Despite himself, the sessions began to heal Ristlin in a way no other therapy could. The two men discovered common interests having nothing to do with the military or the ship: art, architecture, history, and eventually, they became close friends. Their friendship continued after Ristlin went back to active duty, and up until the time when Ristlin received his discharge papers.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Thrawn told him as he handed him the decommission. “We’ll be in port at Coruscant next week and you’ll be free to disembark.”

“You say that as if it were a bad thing,” Ristlin said with a wry smile.

“Not for you, perhaps. But you will leave a void.”

“I’ll miss you, too, my friend.”

“Then reenlist. I’m not supposed to know it, but I’m going to have command shortly. I can make sure that you draw my ship, we can continue—.” Ristlin’s sharp breath took Thrawn’s away. “I’m sorry. I did not mean that to sound the way it did.”

“That’s…all right. Look, I understand what you’re trying to say, but I can’t stay in the Fleet. Under your protection or not. I’ll….Take care, Thrawn.” Ristlin escaped through the doors to Thrawn’s quarters and back to his own barracks. He left the ship a week later without speaking to the commander. 

 

“Mr. Namara? Mr. Namara, it’s time to wake up, now.” A woman called him and someone shook his arm gently. “Mr. Namara, the doctor is here to see you.” Protesting mildly, he blinked under a sunset like the night on Alderaan. He blinked again and saw that it was an overhead light. 

“Mr. Namara, you are in the trauma ward of the Imperial military hospital,” explained a male voice. “Do you understand me?”

“Aya.” He tried to speak, but couldn’t past the cottony feeling in his mouth. The woman—nurse—got him a glass of water and a straw to sip it.

“We’ve been hydrating you for six hours. You passed out after Lieutenant Corvo found you. Do you remember what happened?” 

“Aya. I was kidnapped and tortured.”

“You’re a little weak, but there are no visible signs of torture.”

“Back of the neck. Check for a lesion.” He waited while the doctor complied.

“There’s a small reddened area there, yes. Looks like a tiny puncture?”

Ristlin nodded. “Some device, plugged into the brain. They told me it caused no permanent damage, but it triggered pain responses directly.”

The doctor didn’t seem surprised, but he went out of sight for a moment. When he returned, two Imperial Intelligence Officers were with him. Then he left with the nurse.

Ristlin spent hours with the Officers, answering questions as best he could. He wanted to ask about Thrawn, but didn’t dare. They didn’t ask why he was targeted or say anything about recovering his military file. He didn’t offer any information on his own, but answered their questions succinctly. Finally, they left. Lt. Corvo arrived shortly afterward and asked if Ristlin was ready to go home.

“Aya, that’s the best question I’ve been asked today. Am I released?”

“Yes. My orders are to escort you to your quarters.”

“Then let’s go.” He was helped into a wheelchair and brought to the military transport. Corvo got in beside him and instructed the pilot to return to Sector 4, Building 28. As he sat gazing out the window, Ristlin thought about the circumstances that brought him to Thrawn’s quarters for the first time….

 

It was about six months after his discharge that he saw Thrawn again. It was at an art exhibit in the Pedrantilathal Gallery on Alderaan. Ristlin was on a rare visit home and Thrawn’s ship, at that time the _Justicar_ , was escorting a diplomatic mission to the Alderaanian government. They noticed each other at the same time and Ristlin was amazed at how seeing the commander—now Captain—made him feel.

“You’re growing your hair,” Thrawn commented strangely.

“Aya, I’ve lost years of growth, gotta catch up. You’ve not changed.”

“No?” Thrawn stared at him with glowing eyes. “Perhaps not.” He paused a long time, studying Ristlin silently. Then, with no warning, he fairly stammered, “What do you think of this Caldornian?” The two continued viewing the exhibition together into the afternoon.

“Do you live on Alderaan, now?” Thrawn asked in the gallery’s little café where they went afterward.

“No, Coruscant. I’m here to visit family.”

“Not a good visit, I take it?”

Ristlin smiled his apologetic, shy grimace. “No, you’re right. My mother died a few weeks ago. I got my sister’s message when she became sick, but by the time I arrived on the transport, she was gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ristlin shrugged. “It’s good to see Senna and her family, but my father and I…. What about you? Passing through, I assume?”

“Yes, boring mission, requiring a show of strength, but no real duties except stay out of the way. When do you return home?”

“I don’t know yet. How much longer will you be posted to Alderaan?”

“At least another week. Can we get dinner or something?”

“Not tonight, I’m due back, but yes. Tomorrow?” In Thrawn’s virtually unreadable red gaze, Ristlin thought he saw a glimmer of hope. 

“I wasn’t certain you’d be happy to see me.” Thrawn ventured after the pleasantries when they met for dinner. They had met in the city of Lathantil, across Lake Pedra from its sister-city Pedrantil and the Gallery. “I know I upset you when I asked you to stay on board.”

“Not your fault. You didn’t want to lose a friend.” Ristlin volunteered too quickly.

Thrawn shook his head. “That wasn’t it. I didn’t want to not see you every day. Please,” he held up a hand, “don’t say anything just yet. I’m not accustomed to declaring my feelings, so I hope you’ll allow me to take my time. I thought, when you left the Navy, that I’d probably never see you again, or if I did, you wouldn’t want to be reminded of that…period in your life. I decided, as I always have done, that my work would reassume its importance and drive away all other contemplation. 

“Unfortunately, as you know, I use art extensively in my research. And I find I can’t look at a Lorinz painting or a Fabilquat sculpture without wanting to know what you think of it. I know you had to move on with your life, but I’m afraid you left me behind as well.

“Understand, this is a difficulty for me. I can’t negotiate or order my way back into your life, Ristlin. To do so would be as unfair to you as the monstrosities you suffered in the service. But you awakened something in me I’d forgotten I could experience. I just want to know if you feel the same way. If not….I need to know, either way.”

Ristlin stole a glance around the room. Thrawn’s carefully modulated voice had not carried any further than across the table, and no one else seemed aware of their conversation, or perhaps its intensity made them deliberately look away. They might have been entirely alone but for the buzz of other diners chatting over their meals. “I suppose I did leave things unfinished between us. Do you know why? It wasn’t what you…it wasn’t that. It was because, for one terrifying moment, I thought I could accept. I thought making an arrangement might be a reasonable compromise. But I think you know, I could never return to life on board a starship. And I couldn’t allow you to set such a large stumbling block in your way. I know your ambition, Thrawn. I know where you want to go. Believe me, this is not the way to get there. 

“There is no privacy on a ship, not real privacy. Captains have their inner sanctum, but even if the crew doesn’t know, they suspect. Can you honestly tell me anyone was surprised when the lid blew off Mershak? Everyone knew he had something going on that wasn’t right, they just didn’t know what. Even if we were the soul of discretion, someone would eventually put two and two together. It’s too dangerous a game for you to play with your career.”

“I agree. I’ve had a while to think it over and you are correct, though I think you underestimate the control a good Captain can have over his circumstances in a Victory or Destroyer. But, you did consider it?”

“Aya. But like you said, you’ve never considered the possibility for yourself. Why are you plunging in now? You’ve got a major disadvantage in the fleet, not being human. Why do you want to set yourself up for more bad press?”

Thrawn smiled. “I don’t know. I keep telling myself that, and that I’m simply intrigued intellectually, stimulated perhaps, but nothing more. But if that’s true, then why do I find myself awake when I should be resting, thinking about you? I want to find you, talk to you, see how you are, but—and for the first time in my life, I might add—I’m afraid of rejection. And when I saw you at the Gallery, I was overwhelmed. I wanted to touch you, immediately, almost a primal need. I didn’t realize, I think, how much I have missed you. And when I think about how much restraint it took not to shout your name across the hall, I’m astounded at myself.”

“That’s quite an obsession you’re developing, my friend. Are you sure you’re not just reacting to being such a control freak all your life?” Ristlin grinned, but his apprehension stung through the biting comment. “Sorry. Look, let’s get out of here where there’s a little more room to breathe, all right?”

They turned over their credit and left the restaurant, Thrawn allowing Ristlin to lead. They walked silently to an old fishing pier off Lake Pedra. It was summer and the sun was just setting over the water, turning the clouds into fire and tinting Pedrantil’s skyline across the lake a rich red-gold. Behind them, the moon rose. Couples strolling along the pier delighted in a stage set for romance. Both men felt as if the day’s perfect ending mocked them. “Come to beautiful Alderaan,” Ristlin pronounced, sounding like a travelogue. “The galaxy’s favorite spot to fall in love….”

They found a quiet spot and discussed their future. Though awkward at times toward one another, they left feeling hopeful, if cautious. A month later, Thrawn arrived on Coruscant, posted there for two months while the _Vengeance_ was refit for him. By the end of that time, Ristlin sublet his academic quarters and moved into Thrawn’s.

 

“Lt. Namara? Wake up. You’re home.” With Corvo’s help, Ristlin got to his feet and they entered the building. Corvo led him through a stream of guards up to his floor. Armored Imperial troopers manned Thrawn’s door.

“What’s going on?” he asked Corvo.

“Patience, Lieutenant. Please, come with me.”

The stormtroopers unlocked Ristlin’s door for him. He stepped into the atrium and met two Imperial Guards at the inner door. One held up his hand while the other stepped into Ristlin’s living room, leaving him in the foyer.

Talking to the red-robed, silent Imperial Guard was of no use, so Ristlin didn’t try. With his heart beating in his throat, he waited to find out what awaited him—not who, as he was afraid he knew the answer to that. He ran a hand through his long hair nervously. Then the door slid open and the guard returned with an Imperial Intelligence Officer. “You are to obtain suitable clothing and refresh yourself. Then we will conduct you to the Palace. You have one hour.” The guards followed him into the empty apartment.

In clean clothes and with his hair pulled into a low tail, Ristlin accompanied the three of them out of his building and into a private transport. The troopers were gone from his door, as were all the ones in the building lobby. They arrived at the Imperial Palace by a circuitous route, where he was taken in by an obscure entrance and conducted to an antechamber to wait. The Intelligence Officer, whose name was Prero, debriefed him on what he knew about the plot on Thrawn’s life. He explained what he knew, and in return was told that the responsible persons were already taken care of. A Senator by the name of Amzor believed he could discredit the Emperor by exposing an affair between Ristlin and a ranking officer who was also a non-human, two “perversions,” said the intelligence officer, which the Emperor had worked to eradicate while in the Senate himself. 

“We got a full confession, of course,” said Prero. “Amzor was quite proud of his little scheme. He used Mershak to get details about your past and for a small force of arms, then he obtained a false military record. It accuses you of prostitution on board the _Starspear_ , lists Mershak and Captain Thrawn as clients. Used his diplomatic status to get in and contaminate the food in your quarters. He apparently promised Mershak he could take you hostage afterward, some sort of revenge idea of Mershak’s. Then he had you kidnapped and tortured to get a confession, which they cobbled together out of your answers. They planned to broadcast the ‘story’ to all the free news services the same morning we raided. Amzor was pleased with how well it had gone. Said that he had three or four contingency plans, all of which might have worked.” Prero ticked off Amzor’s plots on his fingers.

“First, he started poisoning Captain Thrawn. If he had died of poison, they would have framed you, then exposed your ‘past’ and that you were lovers, etc. If he had killed you, he would have been tried and the details would come out that way. The second phase started when you discovered the poison and investigated. They hoped you would come to that fellow, Jardin, who was paid to secure you and bring you to the tenement in Ardoni Sector. Amzor suspected Thrawn would try to find you, and they didn’t discourage him. They had already arranged to have all available free media there in the morning for a press statement. Had Thrawn tried to save you alone, it would have added to their plan: live coverage of the dramatic event.” 

“How did you know all this was going on?”

Prero fixed Ristlin with a sardonic look. “We’re Imperial Intelligence.” The officer explained that the Emperor in his wisdom suspected Senator Amzor and, by following Ristlin’s and Thrawn’s movements, discovered the plot. He admitted that they lost Ristlin at the Gardens when he was kidnapped, but Thrawn’s calls that night gave them a much clearer picture of what was going on. After checking their information with a known freelance journalist, the military squashed both Mershak and the Senator’s hopes for success.

“Along with their lives,” the officer concluded. “Amzor apparently intended to execute both you and Mershak all along, and when the building was raided, he half succeeded. We saw to Amzor’s execution shortly after he confessed to treason.” 

The door opened then and a Guard stepped out, followed by a familiar blue-skinned man.

“Thrawn.” Ristlin said, taking care to control his voice. 

“Are you all right?” Thrawn asked politely.

“Aya, yes, I’m fine.”

“Good. Go in, Ristlin, he’s waiting.” The Guard inclined his head to Ristlin, indicating that he should follow. Recalling his sinking suspicions outside his own living quarters, Ristlin steeled himself for the encounter.

 

The chamber was dimly lit, but opulent. The Guard took his place by the anteroom door and gestured for Ristlin to approach the throne at the other end. His footsteps rang in the hallway.

“Come in, young man,” croaked a voice in the chair, swathed in shadows and echoing softly. Ristlin’s skin crawled a little. “Ye’ve nothing to fear here, boy. Step closer and let my old eyes have a look at ye.”

Ristlin stopped a respectful distance from the throne and placed his hand to his forehead, Alderaanian fashion. The figure rose and closed the gap between them. Emperor Palpatine barely matched Ristlin’s height, but the bent form suggested he would once have towered over the youth before him. “So, you are the one. All this trouble over such a small child. Hm.” He turned away and sat back down in the throne, its high back encasing him like a black womb. “You are wondering why I went to the trouble to save you, eh? Not for your sake, I am afraid. For his. Thrawn is too important to the future of the Empire to sacrifice to a petty scandal. I have foreseen the day when he will be key to our success. However, I cannot allow his attachments to discredit him further. He must continue his service to me without fear of exposure. But I am not entirely without compassion.

“I offer you a choice, Ristlin Namara. Thrawn will be commended for his service with a new command. He and the _Admonitor_ leave next week for a scouting mission in the Unknown Regions. You may go with him, if you wish. I will allow him that. But, if you do not choose to accompany him with a modest commission of your own, then you must never see him again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord. Together at the ends of the galaxy or forcibly apart.” The words blundered out despite his nerves, or maybe because of them.

“Do not presume to judge me, boy,” Palpatine said softly, like the mewing of a cat. “Were it not for my compassion, Thrawn would have had this choice to make long before this incident. I, too, had hoped for your discretion to be sufficient. However, Thrawn’s place is in my service, and I will not allow my plans to be disrupted because of a sad young boy, no matter how beautiful. Return to your home and discuss it with him. I give you until next week to make your choice.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ristlin said meekly. 

“You have a question for me, I sense.” he said, closing in again. “Ask it.”

Ristlin looked up in surprise, and accidentally met the Emperor’s yellow gaze. Red flecked eyes bored into his soul. He felt insignificant and terribly young against the power of those eyes. He almost swayed where he stood, so potent was the force behind them. 

“Two questions, then,” said Palpatine. “I will answer. No, I did not orchestrate Amzor’s petty scheme in order to force you to this pass. Yes, I have made certain that Thrawn’s loyalty cannot be compromised, not without grievous consequences. I am responsible for his career thus far and do not wish it to end, yet. That is all, I think. Except this:” he reached out, lighting quick, and took Ristlin’s hand in his own. “Whether you stay with Thrawn or part from him, you have awakened in him a quality which I did not know he could possess. I cannot see clearly whether this will ultimately help or harm him. But that which separates us from lesser races is the capacity to care for another. It reminds me he is closer to humanity than I thought. For that, you have my gratitude.”

 

The Intelligence officer escorted Ristlin back to Sector 4, Building 28. He accompanied Ristlin safely to the door of his own home, then left without a word. As he stepped into the atrium and the droid welcomed him home, Ristlin felt unspeakably weary. He wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep for a week, or even a year. But that would waste the time he and Thrawn had to decide what to do. Before the events of the last—had it only been a week?—their relationship had been fraying at the edges already. Could they repair the damage under the Emperor’s threat? Or would everything unravel beneath the pressure? Ristlin wasn’t sure he wanted to take the first steps that same night.

He didn’t need to worry. The old Thrawn was back, the observant and moderately considerate Thrawn who was so different from the Captain with iron firm control over his ship and crew. He didn’t even suggest that they talk that night. He put Ristlin to bed with tender care and offered to stay the night in the spare room. In the morning, they would talk.

“A package arrived for you from the Palace,” Thrawn pointed out to him in the morning. “And, I spoke to Rickert. I told him it wouldn’t be a good time for Senna to visit, even without the children, until you know where you’re going to be. I hope that’s all right.”

“Fine. What did you tell him?”

“The official version, more or less. An attempt was made on my life and it has forced us to reevaluate Coruscant as a base of operation.”

“Where do we start?”

Thrawn shrugged. “Wherever you like. I feel responsible for what’s happened to you, Ristlin, but I don’t quite know how to make it right.”

“Well, you could come here,” he said, patting the couch next to him.

Thrawn released a sigh of relief as he moved in instantly. “Stars, Ris, I didn’t know if I could—“

“Yes.”

 

They spent the day getting reacquainted. It was like starting over again. The passion, absent for months, resurfaced in both of them and they took their time rediscovering one another. Though there were still questions, and doubts, it seemed possible to mend their torn up past. But Ristlin still felt uneasy. He waited a day to bring up his fears, though, basking temporarily in the euphoria of their reunion.

“Remember when we met again, on Alderaan?” he asked the next day. It was afternoon, and they were still in bed.

“Of course.”

“I said then I couldn’t live on a starship.”

“I know.”

“I also said that the crew would suspect, even if—“

‘Let them. Let them know. We’d be together.”

“I still can’t live on board, Thrawn, not forever.”

“I’ve thought about that. There are planets along the Outer Rim where we could go. I understand my tour will be out there indefinitely, anyway.” He chuckled. “It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with the territory. It would be good to have some permanent base in territory with…allies. We could settle in one of the colonies or just inside the Rim. How about Advara?”

Ristlin grinned. “Too red. And can you see me in a mining colony?”

“All right, then, some place previously undiscovered. Very green, with trees and waterfalls—like an uninhabited Alderaan.”

“That’s more like it.” They laughed and kissed, and settled once more.

“Ris, I know this is a big sacrifice for you. I wish you didn’t have to choose this way.”

“Talk to Palpatine. He’s forcing it on us.” Ristlin answered.

“Yes, but you understand why, don’t you?”

“Actually, no, not really. I mean, I understand why he’s doing it, but not why it’s necessary. After all, it’s his government, he controls the Senate. Suns, the Senate is all but powerless these days. Oh, don’t look at me like that. His own policies subjugate you on two counts, and yet you’re so loyal, you can’t even hear him criticized. I don’t understand.”

Thrawn measured his words. “Ristlin, you’re walking on dangerous ground. He could have had us both killed.”

Ristlin shook his head. “Could have had me killed, you mean. You’re ‘too important to the future of the Empire,’ remember?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’ Your continued existence is vital to the eventual success of the Empire, that’s why he gives you free rein. That and the fact that he did something to make sure you can’t turn against him.”

Thrawn said nothing. Ristlin realized as he watched his lover that the man was utterly stunned. “I thought… I thought you knew. Stars, Thrawn. Oh, gods, he—” Thrawn pulled away suddenly.

“You still think my loyalty is to the Empire? I didn’t think you’d put it together quite like that. That’s not exactly the situation. The reason I’m going back has nothing to do with Palpatine.” He drew a ragged breath. “If you come with me, you’ll understand. The Chiss are still in need of a protectorate. There are…things in my quadrant that could grind the Empire—and this Rebellion nonsense—to dust. Eventually, they’ll start to look this way. We have to prepare for them. My household awaits me. Palpatine gave me a chance to regroup, to use the Empire’s assets to plan for my own people’s future, not his, regardless of his petty scheming. Do you understand now, Ristlin? Parck’s offer wouldn’t have held up if Palpatine hadn’t already decided he wanted my talents. But I don’t sell my talents cheaply. I bargained very carefully for what I have.” He sighed and filed the facts away, setting them aside to return to his intended path. “In any case, we can thank him for his indulgence, and take advantage of it while we may.”

Ristlin sighed. “I don’t know if it’s that easy, Thrawn.”

 

With the mood ruined, the two drifted off to other tasks. Ristlin retreated to his studio to clean and prepare it for other quarters. Thrawn called up his vidscreen and settled into his work, as much a refuge to him as art. It was a few hours later when the news interrupted him. Reading the report, he felt ill. On top of everything else, now Ristlin had to hear this.

He knocked on the studio door and asked Ristlin to come out and sit.

“What is it?”

“It’s bad. Please, you want to sit down for this.” With a sinking stomach, Ristlin complied. 

“I’ve received an intelligence report. This is classified, Ristlin, but you need to know. Alderaan is gone.”

At first, Ristlin thought he was making a sick joke. How could Alderaan be gone? But one look at Thrawn’s face was enough. “Gone?”

“Destroyed.”

“What? But Alderaan is peaceful, we have no weapons. And how can a whole planet be destroyed?”

Clearly, it was difficult for Thrawn to answer. “I’m somewhat ashamed to say, an Imperial Force is responsible, Ris. Tarkin has let his overzealous ambition tip his hand, as usual. He has been overseeing an experimental station, one that can in fact trigger an explosion large enough to destroy entire planets. Evidently, he decided to use Alderaan as a demonstration—I don’t know what possessed him. It’s sure to do nothing but galvanize the Rebellion against the Empire.”

“My family is dead, Thrawn, and you’re worried about the impact it will have on Imperial popularity?”

“I’m sorry, Ristlin, believe me.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Ris—“

“Get out!” Ristlin launched himself at Thrawn, punching madly. The fear, the shock, the rage that had built inside him came flooding out in a storm of violence. The dam that he used to wall away his anger broke and wave upon wave of fury crashed down on the nearest target. He screamed, he pummeled, he assaulted Thrawn with every ounce of pent-up bitterness. Thrawn bore the onslaught silently, blocking but making no attempt to stop Ristlin. Ristlin’s blows eventually lost their force and he sank to his knees. Thrawn tried to help him to the sofa, but Ristlin punched out at him when he drew near. Though it worried him to leave Ristlin alone, Thrawn vacated the apartment entirely.

Ristlin heard him leave, but it didn’t matter. His home, the orchards where he grew and played and worked, his family, his entire way of life—all gone in a moment. He rocked himself on the floor, sobbing like a child. Alderaan, Senna, Rickert, Marden, Brina, all gone. Obliterated. By the Empire. Ristlin vowed to avenge them somehow. The Emperor’s machine had claimed his life up until now. Even outside of the service, his life with Thrawn kept him under the Imperial thumb. And Thrawn, who expected Ristlin to set aside years of abuse and pain merely to stay together, would never make the same sacrifice for him. He was Palpatine’s creature—through the gratitude he felt, at least, if not some greater contract between them. Regardless of how he felt about Thrawn the individual, he couldn’t overlook the fact that Thrawn was and always would be a cold-blooded strategist, unwilling or unable to change. And ultimately, he would use the super-weapon on another planet, if he felt it necessary. Ristlin could not live with himself if he stayed with someone capable of such genocide.

He uncurled himself and paced the room, deciding where to go next. There was a small package on the table, addressed to him. He tore it open, noting that it had come from the palace. The Emperor’s gratitude came in the form of a galactic passport, a secure line of credit up to 25,000, and an Imperial Writ of Immunity. Ristlin laughed. The Emperor was buying him off. Even if he’d gone with Thrawn, he was being given a settlement. Fine. He’d settle. He’d take the credit and run. The documents he’d been given were all perfectly legal and up to the minute in the changing bureaucracy of the Empire. They were highly valuable in themselves, and priceless to a forger. The credit could be juggled until lost. 

Ristlin forced himself to think, although every few minutes he shed more tears for Alderaan. The Emperor meant this to be a parting gift, either a blessing on them together or a warning to disappear forever and the means to do it. He must have given the order to send the stuff before anyone knew about Tarkin’s wanton obliteration of Ristlin’s home planet. The information about Alderaan was still classified. If at all possible, Intelligence would invent propaganda to keep the public from knowing it was the Empire’s fault. That worked in Ristlin’s favor. On the other hand, how long would it take for the Emperor to suspect that Thrawn, hearing about Alderaan through the reports, would break protocol and tell Ristlin? Preparing himself for what he had to do, Ristlin set about his escape.

 

He took one bag, the standard issue duffel, which he packed with his essentials, a few favorite items of clothing, and one or two other possessions. He cleaned up the studio, abandoning his work in progress, and bundled up his brushes, his chisels, and other small tools. He put these in a special case which he kept for their transport and set it beside the duffel. He added a few things, some music, a viddisc of Marden’s last birthday, another of Brina’s naming ceremony, some holos from Senna, a jacket from the hall closet, and one to wear. He looked down and realized he was still wearing his old lab coat for sculpting, so he changed into fresh clothes. Then he set the droid on guard and instructed it to lock behind him. Last, he picked up the package containing the Emperor’s gratitude. He put the credchip in an inner pocket, shoved the rest in the duffel, and turned his back on the last ten years of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading such an old work. 
> 
> I wanted to look at why Thrawn is the way he is. In Dark Force Rising, he tells Mara that a commander must make sacrifices to lead. What did he sacrifice? I also wanted to explore some of the underside of the Empire and the Imperial Fleet. Interestingly, this story was written before Spectre of the Past and Vision of the Future were published; I only had to modify two or three minor things to account for discrepancies revealed by those two books. I have not read any of Zahn’s Thrawn short fictions in the Adventure Journals, so if anything is contradicted there, oh well. Christopher McElroy’s Time Tales was also quite helpful after the fact, since everything here fit into Thrawn’s timeline (as of that time) just fine.


End file.
